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Today was the day.
After a night of agitated tossing and turning, Blaise finally gave up the ghost of chasing down any real sleep and opened his eyes.
Today was the day.
The day he said goodbye at long last.
He stared up at the rich, embroidered canopy far above his head, listening to the chirp of his gods-be-damned alarm clock going off on the bedside table, and suddenly wished his life had been different.
He wished he’d died in the war.
Wearily got up and headed for a long, hot shower.
Ginny is pacing back and forth in the tiny, cramped space in the back corner of the library where they’d begun to meet on a regular basis, clearly having a moment of internal doubt that she is working her way up to acting upon.
He can’t let her go there, not now.
When she turns her back, Blaise moves, sliding his arms around her and pulling her into him. Their bodies come together so easily, like lock and key; her tomboyish figure and height are perfect for him.
“Caught you, my little red bird.”
He nuzzles her throat, as he know she enjoys, and as predicted, she melts against him and lets out a breathy sigh, her doubts scattering.
This witch…she is everything he’s ever dreamed. He’s watched her for years, pretending disdain for her and her family to protect her from Pansy’s jealousy and from Malfoy’s penchant for cruelty, and to avoid her brother’s and Potter’s notice. For six years, he’s been careful to catalogue her naughty habits, her maddening faults, and her quirky routines while maintaining a cool disinterest.
And now, she’s his, at long last.
They’re slow, careful. She’s never done most of the things he’s introduce her to this year. He doesn’t push, and he knows when to pull back before things go too far. She’s not ready yet to cross certain lines, and he finds he’s good with that. To his surprise, he even likes the lingering touches and small discoveries in a way he’s never had much patience for in other girls.
It is an easy thing to cast a Disillusionment spell then, a specialty of his, and to move them into the shadows of the library’s tall shelves and convince her of the rightness of what they are doing…and, hopefully where this will lead once the war ends.
A shave and a change later, and Blaise felt slightly more human.
The coffee Marcus wordlessly passed him at the breakfast table was dark and strong and did much to steady his nerves, even if the silent glances his friends exchanged all around him didn’t. He sipped at it while absently munching a piece of toast, buttered and with jam, slipped his way by Millicent.
When he finished eating, he wiped his mouth and set his napkin to the side of his plate, a habit born of good breeding, and headed for the foyer to gather his things.
Slipping his coat on seemed to take more effort than it should have, as if the muscles in his shoulders and arms protested his going out into the wintry cold to drop in, uninvited, at an event he had no business attending.
Just this, and I can let it go, he told himself for the hundredth time, buttoning his coat.
Securing his emotions, he headed for the front door.
“You’re not really going?” Theo asked him from the foyer entrance. “Not after what she threatened?”
Blaise paused.
Yes, Ginny had definitely made it clear how she’d felt about him then…“If you ever come near me again, Zabini, I’ll see you dead. I won’t send someone to do it for me, either.”
But he had to go. Watching her wed to Harry Potter was a kind of much-needed closure.
“She’ll eviscerate you if she sees you there,” Draco reminded him, coming alongside Theo.
“She won’t see me.”
Besides, he’d been practising his Disillusionment and Memory Charm skills since he was thirteen, and after that year…well, he’d only improved upon them. Since the end of the war, she hadn’t once ever suspected him of attending any of her Quidditch matches, or watching her from afar shopping in Diagon Alley. Today would be no different.
“At least go to Knockturn and buy some Polyjuice, just in case,” Theo pleaded.
Blaise reached into his inner robe pocket and removed the metal flask he’d purchased yesterday. He held it up for Theo and Draco to both see.
With a shared sigh, his friends surrendered their attempt to talk him out of it.
“I’ll be fine,” Blaise reassured them and left Nott Manor, where he’d been holed up since the end of the war, along with Draco, Marcus, Millicent, Pansy, and Greg, who’d also refused to return to their ancestral homes and the bad memories that resided within.
Not that such nightmares needed a place to be remembered. Blaise had found over the years that inside his own skull was where the worse terrors relived themselves most days.
They know.
Blaise’s stomach turns over as he marches alongside Amycus towards his office on the fifth floor, where presumably, he will either be punished or killed for his involvement with Ginny.
The man’s grip on his arm tightens and he raises his wand, as if he feels Blaise’s intention to make a run for it. With his wand confiscated by the older man when he’d been escorted out of the Slytherin common room earlier, Blaise knows there is no way he can magically do much to get out of the situation. His wandless spells are shite.
That leaves only one option: physically overpowering Amycus. Blaise stands a good head taller than the other man, and outweighs him by at least a stone or two. He might have a chance…
Avery Junior appears at his side, having seen them crossing the moving stairs. “Amycus, ol' boy, anything the matter?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, Avery,” Amycus sneers, gripping Blaise’s arm tighter. “This one here is in need of a little re-education, is all.”
Voldemort’s most trusted spymaster eyes him, his crooked smirk filled with yellowed, uneven teeth. “Is that so? What’s he done?”
Blaise considers the other man in the equation. Avery isn’t a tall or stout fellow, either, not like his aged father, but he is unusually fast. Blaise has seen him in a duel once, and he is quick and quiet in defeating his enemy. His addition changes things substantially.
He will have to look for another opening, if one comes in time.
Unfortunately, Blaise has never been very lucky, and soon he is sitting in ‘the punishment office’, as the students have dubbed it, surrounded by Amycus, Alecto, and the Junior Avery. His trial is short and irrefutable, especially when they use Legilimency on him.
The wedding was being held in an eleventh-century castle that was one of several private residences of a Mister Sanguini, friend of the groom. It was a lovely and historic place, outside filled with memory and the scent of fresh pine, inside warm and cheerful despite the frost upon the windows.
The small chapel where the actual ceremony was to take place had Muggle mediaeval glasswork and gold gilt incense sconces hanging from the sharp, angled ceiling. It seemed Potter had been raised in the Angelican faith of his Muggle caretakers when he’d been a child, and despite being non-practising himself, he’d wanted to honour the tradition that had also raised his mother.
The room was much too small to permit everyone in attendance a seat, but thanks to his Disillusionment Charm, Blaise was able to slip in unnoticed and watch the only woman he’d ever loved marry another man.
“Do you, Ginerva Molly Weasley…”
“Fraternizing with a blood traitor!” Alecto cackles with glee, clapping as if she can’t wait for the opportunity to discipline him for such a transgression.
Amycus grins with anticipation as well. “Misguided, is what it is. Such a shame.”
“I’m sure you’re reading more into it than intended, my dears,” Avery Junior slyly counters.
The man slithers around behind Blaise, his presence hovering like a snake about to strike, and Blaise can feel the sweat gather at the back of his neck, despite his best attempts to remain calm. There is a reason both of the Avery men are within the Dark Lord’s inner circle of confidants and are, according to Draco, feared by most of the other Death Eaters.
“Young Zabini here would never jeopardize his bitch-whore mother’s tenuous standing in our great Lord’s eye by courting a blood traitor,” Avery taunts. “Would he?”
Blaise knows a threat when he hears it.
“No, sir,” he replies, buying time, trying to think of a plan for explaining things, for getting out of this fix…
“He wouldn’t dare fall in love with the girl rumour has it is Potter’s slut.” Avery’s non-dueling hand comes to rest on Blaise’s shoulder from behind, and the warning is clear. “Isn’t that right, m'boy?”
It takes everything in Blaise not to tense up or show any offence taken by Avery’s slur against Ginny. “No, sir,” he lies, latching onto a desperate idea, praying he’s a good enough Slytherin to pull it off. “I’ve been luring her in, trying to get information on our enemy. It’s why I’ve spent so many years watching her. Just in case.”
“Know thy enemy, hmm?” Avery asks.
“Yes, sir.”
Amycus and Alecto look first skeptical, then confused by this new information. Blaise plays his best card: ‘smooth’. It’s gotten him out of more than one scrape in the past, especially when talking about or dealing with girls. And it’s not as if the idea is an outlandish one; his mother, Carmine, was once known as the Black Widow of Verona, after all, and he’s broken his share of hearts around these halls.
“It makes me very glad to hear of your deep commitment to our Lord’s cause, Mister Zabini,” Avery says, patting Blaise’s shoulder as one might a Crup’s head. “That you would willingly sully yourself in such a noble pursuit is admirable and makes up for your mother’s decided lack of enthusiasm in joining the cause herself. You have taken a step towards redeeming your family’s great name.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The menace shifts, and is suddenly before him, leaning down and placing his mouth right next to Blaise’s ear. “As you are so keen to serve, I have a task for you.”
Blaise feels that icy hand of fear grip his heart, intuition screaming at him that he’s just unwittingly played right into Avery’s hand.
He'd wanted to leave after the vows and the sealing kiss—just turn around and never look back, but Blaise had come this far. He figured he might as well go the rest of the way.
The decorators had outdone themselves on the reception hall, he thought as he sat at a table in the back corner and looked around. Satin and silken swatches of blue the colour of winter skies and white as pure as drifting clouds crisscrossed the overhead wooden arches, magical snowflakes fell from the ceiling, and ice flowers gathered in bunches on every table and hung from ancient wall sconces. Winter fairies danced from table to table sipping nectar from the centerpieces, the glow they emitted filling the air with soft, white light. The finest china and silverware were set at each table, and the food was as good as any served in the finest kitchens in Rome, and the alcohol was top shelf and flowed freely.
…And yet, the music that played on in the background was that of a country faire in the springtime, filled with Irish fiddles and happy flutes. It was music of commoners, their call to the dance, which this crowd of well-dressed friends and family and war-winners answers with great delight and much enthusiasm.
A small voice in the back of Blaise's mind told him to let them have this fun without spoiling it with his bitter grapes. These people had earned the right to enjoy the life they'd won. Besides, Ginny looked magnificent, spinning and twirling and laughing right along with her peasant music. Her cheeks were red, not maidenly pink, and her freckled shoulders were bared to the world and her smile was so big it brightened all of England.
She was happier now than Blaise had ever seen her, more carefree and wild than she'd been even as a young girl back in school.
He thanked Merlin, Morganna, and Circe that he had not ruined this…ruined her, as he'd feared he had, for that kind of psychic damage could very well mess up even the best laid Memory Charms.
He meets her in the library, in their usual spot, only he’s picked a time when he knows it’s closed for the night and no one is about. It is the only chance he’ll have to warn her…
The ghosts of the castle have gone into hiding since Snape took charge, and with Death Eaters roaming the halls, no other students will dare to be out of bed. But he’s summoned her here with all urgency, so he knows she’ll be here.
A shifting of the light from their corner tells him she’s come. Quickly, he approaches her.
“Ginny‒”
Amycus has her by the throat, his wand to her temple, her own wand nowhere in sight…most likely already taken. Her eyes are blown wide with terror, but she makes no noise.
Avery steps out of the shadows, a feral cat’s smile stretching his cheeks wide. “So eager to fulfill the task I set you, Mister Zabini? Couldn’t even wait a day, I see. How…inspiring to see such ambition in today’s youth.”
He’s miscalculated, leapt when he should have stalked, and now he has become tonight’s prey as well.
Before he can move to strike, to battle his way out of the corner he’s backed himself into, he is wordlessly disarmed by Avery. His wand flies into the other man’s hand with little magical effort.
“Now, where were we?” Avery asks, casually tapping Blaise’s wand against his thigh with intentional taunt. “Ah, yes, your task. As explained to you earlier, in order to bring proof of your loyalty to our most esteemed Dark Lord, Mister Zabini, I will need to see these plans you’ve claimed to have carefully cultivated with Miss Weasley here come to fruition.”
Feeling a cold dread settle into his guts, Blaise glanced at Ginny. She looked back at him with confusion and a growing wariness, and he knew—he KNEW—what Avery was attempting to accomplish by sowing the seeds of doubt in her head.
One way or the other, he would be damned in her eyes after tonight.
“Come, now, m'boy,” Avery coaxed in a subtly manipulative tone, “you did brag on your accomplishments thus far, and really, my price is simple enough and right in line with your end game. You remember it, don’t you?”
He’s out-classed, out-magicked, and although it stings to admit, he’s been out-smarted. There is only one way out for them now, one way that will not end with one or both of them dead at the end of Avery’s lightning-fast, merciless wand. He knows what the sadistic S.O.B. wants, and knows the repercussions should he fail in giving it to him.
“Yes, sir,” he says, gritting his back teeth.
Avery steps aside and motions towards Ginny. “Well, there’s your blood traitor, all neatly wrapped up and ready for you. Hop to the despoiling of her! We haven’t got all night, boy.”
He glanced at Ginny, who was stricken by his betrayal and knew he would never forgive himself for what he would have to do next to save her life.
He left his small, unsigned present on the table next to the mountain of other gifts, content that he’d seen to it that Ginny was, indeed, happy and free of the darker memories of him.
He paused at the doorway leading out onto the castle grounds and turned to catch one last glimpse of her. He watched her take a sip of her champagne and then how she’d gulped it down in one throw as her groom tugged her arm and dragged her out onto the dance floor for another go ‘round. She was flushed and beautiful, and Blaise ached at the memory of her once looking upon him with that same trembling desire as she did her new husband.
But the recollection of those happy times were now permanently overlaid with the haunting memory of her screams and curses, of the feel of her heated body fighting him as he pressed it down onto the cold stone of the library floor and held it there with his heavier, stronger mass, of the tearing of her robes and the breaching of her tight virginity, and of how sick he’d felt emptying himself into her that first time. They were coloured by the flashbacks of Avery’s laughter and Amycus’ pleading with the other man to be allowed a turn, and of Blaise forcing back the tears to mount her again and deny Carrow his chance, and of finally leaving off, unable to finish, sobbing in disgust and self-hatred and grief…and of hearing Avery clapping and calling it the performance of a lifetime before dragging Amycus out the door behind him, leaving them alone to face the aftermath.
Destroyed by what he’d done.
It was time to let those memories go.
Days pass, and still she won’t even look his way, won’t accept his carefully concealed notes, or accept his offers of explanation. It is exactly as he’d feared; Avery’s poison has wormed its way into her ears and through her system. There will be no chance for explanation, no forgiveness for him.
At first, he fears Amycus or Avery will go to Snape and report him as a rapist, which would see him before Umbridge and her kangaroo court on criminal charges, as he is legally of age. When that doesn’t happen and he receives word through the grapevine that Avery Junior has gone off to serve some errand for the Dark Lord instead, Blaise feels only a modicum of relief as he realises he will at least not face a Dementor’s kiss for violating a daughter of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Eventually, though, he almost comes to wish that death would take him, for the pain of Ginny’s hatred and the remorse and guilt of his actions weigh on him as heavily as stone walls and iron bars.
In between classes, he takes to waiting for her in their place in the library. Yes, it’s been defiled by what had been done there, but he’s desperate enough to try anything to get her attention.
It works. A month later, she appears before him in the exact spot, thinner and angrier than ever. Her wand sparks with barely restrained vengeance as it pokes him in the heart.
“I’m so sorry, my little red bird,” he quickly says, wanting to reach her before she can curse him into oblivion.
“Take your sorry and fuck off,” she snarls back.
“Let me explain. It’s not what you think–”
She kicks him in the shin, hard. He winces and wobbles, nearly losing his footing.
“Oh, so you didn’t trick me into trusting you, then,” she sarcastically snarks, “all so you could rape me here on this floor a month ago as some sort of test to get into the Junior Death Eater club, like your good chum, Malfoy?”
“No!” he vehemently denies. “I didn’t…it’s not like that! Avery fooled you into believing I wanted to…but it wasn’t like that!”
Her wand raises and presses into his jugular, and it’s suddenly painful to swallow. The fire in her eyes tells him he’s had his fifteen seconds of her time, and they’re up. “Shut it,” she seethes. “Just…shut your fucking mouth! You lied to me! You used me! You RAPED me, you monster! I’ll never forgive you!”
Slowly, as if she knows she’s on a precipice from which there is no returning should she fall, she throttles down her fury and backs away from him. Her wand stays trained between his eyes, though, for good measure.
“Please, let me explain,” he tries again, but she will hear none of it.
With a quick cast, she nails him with a Knockback Jinx that sends him slamming into the shelves behind him and feels like a punch straight through his chest. He falls to his arse, barely able to breathe.
Ginny stands over him, hatred burning her gaze and searing her words into his brain for all time. “If you ever come near me again, Zabini, I’ll see you dead. I won’t send someone to do it for me, either. Consider this your only warning.”
She is gone before he can recover his feet, and after that, she disappears from school, too, along with the rest of Potter’s braver sympathisers. No one seems to know where they’ve gone to or how they even left the grounds, but Blaise knows in the shattered remains of his heart this day will be the last time he ever speaks to this girl he loves, face-to-face.
"Come on, Gin, you have to come down to sign the marriage license!" Hermione called to her.
"Yeah, you're not officially Mrs. Potter until you do!" Angelina called after her.
The two women laughed through the dressing room door, teasing her.
"Ooh, just give me a minute, you giggling ninnies!" Ginny called back, and quickly refreshed her lipstick while checking the mirror. Then, she fixed the hair that had escaped its style from so much dancing.
Goodness, she was having the time of her life!
This wedding was everything she'd ever hoped for, everything she'd ever wanted. Her family was so keyed they were riling up the weeds outside, Harry looked so handsome, she felt beautiful...
Behind her, in the mirror's reflection, something white caught her eye and held it.
Turning, she spied a small white box sitting on a side table, near the window. Had that been there before? She didn't recall seeing it earlier when she'd gotten dressed in this very room.
Replacing the cover on her lipstick, she eyed the package.
However it got there, it was definitely a wedding gift, but who was the mystery giver, she wondered? Was one of George's jokes, or a special present from her parents that they wanted to give to her on this happy occasion? Ooh, maybe it was from her bridesmaids, or even from Harry, himself—a secret, romantic gift from her groom to his new bride, for her eyes only!
As if compelled to find out, she crossed the room to it and lifted it up.
It was light. No note was attached.
She wondered what was inside…
Summoning her wand to her hand from her vanity table, she ran the box through the gamut of security spells she knew. The war had taught her a thing or two about trust and taking precautions. Besides, one didn't date—marry—the Head Auror and most famous wizard of all time without knowing a thing or two about dangerous packages in the post.
To her delight, this gift sparkled with white magic instead, and that had her curiosity burning too hot to be ignored.
Untying the bow and lifting the lid, she peeked inside. Surrounded by soft, white satin, was a simple vial containing a wispy, white substance. Was that...a memory? If so, she wouldn't be able to view it until she got home later, as she didn't have a Pensieve available. Too bad, really.
Just as she was about to put the lid back on the box, the substance inside the vial flashed at her, as if begging for her not to set it aside just yet, and instead, to open it immediately. That same strange compulsion she'd felt when crossing the room to the box returned. It had her obeying the desire without thought.
Before she'd even realised what she'd done, she had the vial out and uncorked. There was a blinding white flash, and then a ghostly form slowly took shape before her. It was foreign and indistinct at first, but when it cleared, she nearly fell over in astonishment.
It was a Patronus. One in the shape of a song bird.
How lovely!
It flapped its small wings, trilled, and then its shape began to fall apart and reform, growing larger...
Ginny nearly fell over in fright this time when it finally took its next form. The vial fell from her numb fingers onto the plush carpet below her feet, rolling under the table, out of sight.
"Don't be alarmed," Blaise told her. "I'm not going to harm you."
It took a moment longer for her to realise that this wasn't really Zabini in the flesh, but a magically pre-recorded version of him, like a living Howler, minus the screaming.
Although that might come, too, all depending...
"I wanted to congratulate you on learning how to be happy again," he told her.
He was older now, only five or so years, but that time had clearly weighed heavily upon him. There were lines of strain around his eyes and mouth. Still, he was as handsome as she remembered him, perhaps even a little more now that he'd fully grown into his looks and lost that arrogant tilt to his chin that he'd always worn back during their school days.
"Also, I wanted to tell you that no matter what you might think of me after the fact, please know that I never wanted to harm you, Ginny," he continued, as calm and as cool as ever. At least, upon first glance. As she looked closer, however, she could see how tense he was, how important it was to him to send her this message now; it was there, if one knew where and how to look. "I thought I was saving your life that day, that I was saving both our lives. I could see no other way out at the time."
Yes, she knew that now.
After attending his trial, she understood Avery Junior better, saw him for the manipulative bastard he was, and knew he'd most likely painted Blaise a monster that night when he was nothing of the sort. She just hadn't trusted him enough and that…that had been her sin to bear all these years.
Things would have probably turned out completely different if she had trusted in Blaise that night, however. She might have stayed with him, for one, understanding what he'd done to her was done out of necessity to save lives, and not from a place of cruel sadism. In doing so, she might have stayed open and vulnerable at Hogwarts, instead of going into hiding with the rest of Dumbledore's Army, which might have jeopardized everything Harry had been doing. She could have been used to draw Harry out to his death before Voldemort's horcruxes had all been destroyed.
Her remaining with Blaise could have, in retrospect, changed the course of the entire war. For that reason alone, she couldn't find it in her to regret too much the choices she'd made.
Clearly, however, the same could not be said for Blaise, who had clearly felt the need to reach out to her on her wedding day, of all times, to leave her a parting gift of an apology. The poor man, the guilt he must have borne all these years!
"What I did to you I know I can never undo, Ginny. I'm just so sorry for everything, especially that Avery made you believe his lies. Please know the truth."
He held out his left arm and rolled up the sleeve. The skin under it was unblemished.
He'd never been Marked.
Relief was a strong wind blowing through her, wrenching a thankful sob from her throat.
He'd never walked Voldemort's left-hand path! That had always been a concern, especially as she hadn't seen him after the war. She'd assumed he'd left the country, with the likes of Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, and Greg Goyle, who had been known Voldemort sympathisers, to escape the stigma of having been branded Voldemort's disposable chattel.
"So now you know all, and this is closure of that past, for both of us. This is my gift to you," Blaise told her, and for some inexplicable reason, her eyes began to tear up. "I just wanted you to know that I was relieved that you'd found true happiness again. That'll make things easier for the rest of this spell to work."
He stood up and held out his hand. In the centre of it was a red piece of paper, folded into a square. With a wordless, wandless spell, Blaise transfigured it into a little, red bird.
"This is for you," he told her, and the paper bird flew into her hand. It burst out into beautiful, trilling music that captivated Ginny. "If you remember nothing else of this conversation, remember this, Ginevra: you will always be my little, red bird."
He faded away.
The paper unfolded in her hand, and it contained only a single word, which she spoke aloud:
OBLIVIATE
Blaise's message ended in a flash of white light and the fading notes of a bird's song.
Ginny came to in the centre of an unfamiliar dressing room, standing before a picture window that looked out over a lovely green yard decorated for some sort of celebration. The sounds of dozens of voices droning on outside was co-mingled with a lively Irish jig playing in the background. It was all muffled through the glass, though.
Her brain felt muffled, fuzzy, like someone had stuffed it full of cotton.
As she watched through the window, little red song finches flitted back and forth between the wisteria and rose bushes outside on the lawn, playing a game of tag.
Someone knocked on a door nearby.
It was the door behind her, apparently.
"Gin? Are you okay? Ginny? Can you hear us? We're coming in!"
The door knob turned and Hermione stormed in. Behind her was Angelina. They were both dressed quite fancy, as if they were going to a wedding or a ball.
But they were in the middle of a war!
"Ginny? Are you alright?"
"'Mione, why are you here?" she asked, feeling strangely disconnected from the fear and anxiety she knew she should be feeling right then, seeing her best girlfriend so out in the open and vulnerable. Everything was muddled, nothing seemed real. Was this what shock felt like? If so, what had done it to her? "You should be in hiding, with Ron and Harry! They'll get you if you don't run!"
Her friends looked extremely worried. They hovered over her, said something about the wedding's stress getting to her and how she needed to sit for a little while in quiet. They guided her to a chair and forced her down into it. They got her water, fanned her off. They called her mother into the room, and then Harry appeared and knelt at her feet, and she nearly fainted at how changed he appeared.
"What happened to you?" she asked him, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He'd aged so much in the months he, Ron, and Hermione had gone off on their trek to find a way to defeat the Dark Lord. Why, he appeared years older than his seventeen-year-old self, closer to a man of twenty-three or twenty-four! It was as if years had passed!
But that was impossible...wasn't it?
THE NEXT DAY...
Blaise awoke to the sound of bird song outside his window and smiled.
Today was the day—the day he'd patiently waited years to finally arrive.
The day he would reclaim Ginny Weasley's love.
And now there was nothing standing in the way of getting her back—no manipulative Death Eaters, no haunting memories of the war, no feelings for another lover...not even an official marriage.
Excited, he got up and headed for the shower, for once eager for the future that awaited.
.
~FIN~
.