Roommates

Twenty Four

After all this reflection, Blaise finally climbed out of bed, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he got ready to take his shower, not only to get rid of the sleepy feeling that lingered, but to try and get Snape's memories to leave his mind's eye. Succeeding, he got out of bed, tossing his towel over his robe-clad shoulder.

An attack on the school was immanent, he felt, remembering all he'd heard in the Slytherin common room from a few nights before - Death Eater's children bragging about their parent's closeness with the Dark Lord and how he planned to storm the castle soon. All this mulled through his mind as he dressed in his uniform, trying to think about his stance.

Octavian lounged back in his chair, taking a glass from a third-year, looking smug. Blaise could tell, even though he was on the other side of the common room.

"To the Dark Lord," Octavian said, raising his glass. Everyone followed suit, repeating his words in differing tones, ranging from loud and proud to barely-heard murmurs. Blaise noted Theodore's was like his, low and uncommitted. Draco's admission, however, was loud and lazily prideful as he acknowledged the other boy with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.

Octavian then launched into a speech that Blaise wasn't interested in until the end, where he said, "The attack on the castle can only be soon. Then we will triumph against the so-called 'Light' side, succeeding in the first step of our goal to purify magic and blood at the same time. Death to all Muggles and Muggleborns!" Other known children of Death Eater's applauded him, as they all launched into their own detailed analysis of how close they were in Lord Voldemort's ring of trust.

Blaise himself wasn't particularly interested in blood, or the ramifications of not having it be "pure" enough. But then again, that would mean Hermione would fall under Lord Voldemort's reign of terror-- she would be one of many deaths that would elevate his previous death count from his first evil conquest to purify the world of Muggles and Muggleborns. He remembered talking with his father one time about the offensive spells that fell under Defense Against the Dark Arts and hearing his father bitterly say he would have introduced him to Gideon Prewett--had he not been killed by Death Eaters years before, hunted down like an animal along with his brother Fabian.

This had to make Blaise wonder about his father's alliances--where did his father's loyalties lie? Years of friendship with Snape mattered little; they knew each other as student and teacher first, Zachary having been Snape's private Potions tutor during his summers off from Hogwarts, though he had barely been out of school himself. But Blaise remembered having been taught as a child that just because some people did not have the ability to perform magic, that did not make them any less of a person. They had feelings, thoughts and lives, just as he had.

He fiddled with his tie as he continued the philosophical debate within himself. Finally, he settled on writing to his father that afternoon, since it was a half day of classes. He slung his bag over his shoulder and left his room, waving to Hermione as she rushed from the bathroom to her room, hair wrapped up in a towel-turban.

"Overslept?" he called teasingly with a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh shut up, Zabini," she said crossly as she closed the door behind her. "Go on down without me; I'll be a while!"

He did so, humming to himself and tracing patterns on the stone walls as he walked towards the Great Hall, once again deep in thought. Just before he entered, a hand shot out from the shadows and encased his upper arm in a steel grip, pulling him into a corner. Professor Snape looked down his long and crooked nose from behind a curtain of greasy hair and glared down at Blaise.

"You know something, Zabini," Snape hissed. Blaise gulped.

"Professor, I don't know what you mean," Blaise said, trying to edge away from his Head of House.

"Oh, don't give me that," snapped Snape. "I'm not an idiot, boy. I know when my mind is being read; I should, having lived with your sister for long enough." He looked for a second as if he wished he hadn't said that, but it disappeared in a flash and the glare was back. "What did you see?"

"I swear I didn't see anything!" Blaise protested, trying harder to wriggle his arm away from the vice-like grip Snape had him in.

"What did you see, boy?" Snape hissed, his voice lower than normal.

Blaise panicked for a moment, and then inspiration struck him. "The answers to next weeks' test," he said, trying to sound as if he hated to say that. "That's all, I swear."

Snape eyed him for a moment; Blaise felt him trying to perform Legilimency on him, and he hastily threw up one of his prepared mental barriers he'd designed to feel as if what they were looking for wasn't there. It must have worked on Snape since the odd feeling--which felt like someone pouring an uncooked egg into your head--receded. Snape nodded slowly, his glare changing from an angry one to the expression he normally wore. "Fine. For now," he added. "Go about your business, now. And if I catch you doing anything like that to me again, I won't be as lenient." He let go of Blaise's arm after a final squeeze and pushed him towards the doors to the Great Hall.

Blaise rubbed his arm moodily as he sat down in his regular seat and started serving himself breakfast. A few moments later, the doom-laden feeling he had picked up from Snape evaporated and he joined a discussion between Daphne and Theodore about the possibility of another use for powdered dragon's blood.

~*~

That afternoon, Hermione was going to spend time with Potter and Weasley; Blaise encouraged it, since he had plenty to think about. He went into his room and started doing homework, which he rarely did right away after classes ended. He asked the portraits of the Founders for advice a few times, which was not the wisest thing to have done as it got them into arguments about each other's advice. In the end, he cast a Silencing Charm and looked through his books for information.

When his homework was finished, he cleared his desk and put the papers on a table on the other side of the room. He sat back at his desk, staring at a blank piece of parchment and chewing on a Sugar Quill as he thought about what he should write to his father about. Should he mention the memory? What would the effect be? Disastrous or worse? He sighed, knowing that he could never guess with his family. They were too unpredictable.

Dear Dad, he wrote.

School's been fine since we got back. Everyone has been buzzing about Hermione and me, though. It seems that no one expected the Gryffindor Head Girl, Harry Potter's best friend, to start dating a Slytherin. I met Potter and Ron Weasley on the train, as well as Ginny Weasley, his younger sister. They're all right, but I don't think we'd ever be particularly close.

I'm writing because I've been hearing rumors of a Death Eater attack on the Castle and I wanted to know if you've heard anything similar. I've also got something I have to tell you, Dad. It's about Lilithe. I can't tell you in a letter, but there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, the second to last. If you could get away from your research, it's important that you come as I've told you I can't tell you my news in a letter.

Hope this reaches you well. Give my love to Mum, Zel, Eduardo and June.

Your son,

Blaise

He sealed the letter with the seal his father had given him with his owl, Oddsbreath, and got up to walk to the Owlery, feeling as if a weight--or at least part of it--had been lifted from his shoulders.

He decided to take the longest way back and walked by the library, bumping into Theodore Nott as the other boy was coming out with a few books. They fell, and Blaise helped Theo pick them all up and agreed to help him with the books back to the Slytherin common room.

"Theodore," Blaise said suddenly, "what do you think of the Death Eater's policies?" He was treading on thin ice; he knew Theodore's father was a Death Eater.

Theodore seemed to consider this question. "In general, or some specific aspect of them?" he asked as they turned a corner.

"I don't think they really have more than one," Blaise said. "Eradicate the world of all Muggles, Muggleborns and Muggle-lovers."

"Everyone thinks that," Theodore mused. "That's their main goal, of course. One that, in the eyes of many, could be considered admirable." He shot Blaise a quick look that Blaise recognized: Theodore thought him a Death Eater.

He breathed in deep and took a chance. "I'm not a Death Eater, Theodore," he said quietly. "I'm not likely to be one, either."

Theodore's shoulders relaxed. "Well, then. The goal to 'purify' the human race of all non-magical, Muggleborn and Muggle-lovers is one that I simply do not see the sense in."

"Explain," Blaise encouraged, interested. He couldn't remember Theodore talking this openly for a long time.

"The major point that I disagree with is the complete lack of respect for human life outside of Wizardkind. Life in all forms, whether Muggle, Muggleborn, half-blood or pureblood, adult or fetus is the most precious and tenuous thing that the human race was entrusted with. And, while the Death Eater goal would eliminate the non-magical people, it would also be detrimental to the rest of the human race," Theodore explained. "Over time, mankind--wizardkind--would become so inbred we would breed the talent for magic out of our genes and genetic structure would weaken with the inbred tendencies until all children born would either be not magical at all or not magical with severe birth defects, such as malformed spines, multiple features, too many or too few fingers or toes and an extra or one less appendage. The purpose of having people have m with different blood and different genes than you is to make sure the race does not become inbred and defective."

As Theodore went on with an explanation of genes and malformations, Blaise listened and absorbed Theodore's ideas and theories that he had clearly wanted to share with someone, but couldn't, for he had no one he trusted enough to do it with. When they reached the Slytherin common room, Blaise looked at Theodore with an appreciative expression on his face and handed him his books.

"Thanks, Theodore," he told him as Theodore entered the common room. "You're a veritable encyclopedia, aren't you?"

Theodore smiled a bit and told him, "I try," before the wall slid back into place.

Blaise grinned at Theodore's odd sense of humor and stuck his hands in his pockets, whistling as he finally went back to his chambers.

When he got back, he heard Hermione's voice, along with two other voices. She was talking about what Blaise had discovered and how he'd done it. He frowned deeply, hurt that she hadn't asked him first if she could tell people. He stepped into the living room and glared at her as she trailed off, a guilty look on her face.

"Oh. Blaise. Didn't know you'd be back so soon," she said, shrinking back a bit in her guilt.

All of a sudden, he realized he was intimidating her. He didn't want her to think he would hurt her, so he lessened his glare a bit and took a look at her two visitors. Sitting across from Hermione were Potter and Weasley. He should've known. He sighed and scratched his neck uneasily.

"So you're a mind-reader, Zabini?" Potter asked, standing up and moving slightly, as if to block Blaise's path to Hermione.

Blaise stiffened, annoyed that they would presume to think he would resort to such violence. He wasn't an animal and he had been raised never to hit a woman. He wasn't about to start now, unless it was his sister. "Potter, if you think you can dare me into reading your mind, you're bloody nuts. I don't do it willingly. In fact, if Hermione hasn't already told you, I've got a charm to block out people's thoughts. Contrary to popular opinion, I don't need to hear Weasley thinking on and on about having Quidditch glory days or you about Ravenclaw's ex-Seeker, Cho whatever-her-name-is." He gave them both dark looks before moving over to stand in front of his door. "Considering that everyone here is either a teenager or a preteen, and that in between the ages of eleven and seventeen one is at the highest point of being hormonally charged that one will ever be, I don't need a thousand voices in my head with their own little romantic fantasies. Or just plain fantasies, as some people have had." He cocked an eyebrow at Weasley, whose ears turned scarlet.

"So, thank you, Hermione, for telling your friends--who I have no affection at all for--that I am a mind-reader. I'm sure that it will become a wonderful rumor that will have the gossips of Hogwarts busy for weeks on end and have me being greeted with nervous looks and even slight fear every place I go. Thank you, and good night." He opened the door and turned to go to bed as a hand touched his arm. He looked back over his shoulder to see Hermione staring up at him, an 'I'm-so-sorry' expression on her face.

"Blaise, I'm so sorry," she said, patting his arm. "I really thought they might understand what I had to tell them better if I told them your secret. They swore not to tell anyone." At this she shot a glare over her shoulder. Both boys behind her nodded solemnly. "Really, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He looked into her eyes. They were full up with apologies and regret. Finally he sighed.

"Yes, I forgive you, Hermione," Blaise replied, squeezing her hand gently. "Next time, though, please ask before you tell people my deep, dark secrets."

"Oh, she already told Ginny what you wear to bed," Weasley said in a singsong voice, making Hermione gasp out, "Ronald!"

Blaise gave Hermione a humorous smile and said, "Is my sleepwear so entertaining, then?"

Potter snorted. "I heard the conversation. I believe it was followed up by something like 'A tall, dark strip of handsome' and lots of giggling."

"Though it could've been 'A find piece of manliness'," Ron put in, making Hermione's shocked expression shift into mortified.

"I do have to live with him, you know," she said, face bright pink as she avoided looking at Blaise.

"We don't," Potter said with a wicked grin on his face. "And now I've got you back for making Ginny try to picture it. I'll thank you not to do that in the future."

"She not even your girlfriend!" Hermione protested, still pink.

Potter sobered. "And you know why," he responded pointedly.

"True." Blaise saw her give him a darting look as he was shaking, trying not to laugh. "What?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"'A fine piece of manliness'?" he asked, laughter breaking through as he leaned in the doorjamb, clutching his stomach.

"My mother says it," Hermione said staunchly. "And a cousin of mine. It wasn't something I thought up myself."

"Damn, I think it's funny," Blaise managed to get out between laughs. Hermione poked him. When he, Potter and Weasley had stopped laughing, he reached out and rubbed Hermione's shoulder, smiling at her. "I'm really going to be now, so good night." He kissed her lightly and turned to go in as Potter's voice sounded in his ears.

"So, Zabini, if your oldest sister is a mind reader and so is your second oldest sister, what's your younger sister?" Potter asked curiously. "Hermione said you thought she was 'gifted', too."

"Actually, she's an empath," Blaise said seriously.

Potter laughed and said, "No, seriously."

Blaise frowned at him. "I am serious. My sister's an empath. She feels other people's emotions. Before she learned to control it she couldn't bear to touch anyone at all; it was too overpowering. Now, she has boyfriends and a whole gaggle of girlfriends who hang all over one another, speaking rapid-fire French all day long.

"I remember one summer my charm that keeps thoughts out was broken when she brought home a huge group of them. I had to spend the week away from all of them--which was hard, since a few of them decided I was trés beau, very handsome, and would make a perfect choice as their next conquest." He made a face. "I had to hide in the library and my pavilion for the whole summer--my room wasn't safe. They didn't know the meaning of 'Get out of my room, now!' And now," he said, giving them all tired warning looks, "if there aren't any more questions, I am going to bed." He gave them another look that said, quite clearly, that there should be no more questions. He was about to turn when Weasley said something.

"I have a question," Ron said, far too cheerfully.

Blaise groaned. "What?" he managed.

"How do you get your hair so soft and shiny?" Blaise glared at him and Weasley just laughed.

"Good night!" Blaise said, walking into his room and closing the door. Potter was about to say something when Hermione shushed him.

"Wait for it..." There was a clicking noise. "Ah, he's locked us out." She laughed. "Good night, Blaise!"

"Good night."