𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

IX

Act IX.

Fide, sed qui, vide.

Trust, but take care whom.

Stealthily stalking the halls that were teeming with students, Blaise Zabini walked down the hall, opposite traffic. Students were bustling and jostling each other about, excited words buzzing and exclaiming over the scene they had witnessed. Shoving at a particularly overexcited Hufflepuff, he shouldered his way through quickly. He didn’t have much time and if these idiots wouldn’t clear a path for him anytime soon, he would take the heavy parcel he gripped in his hand and soundly thump them with it! The train would be leaving soon and he would not board until this errand was finished.

Finally, he reached the double doors of the Infirmary. Sighing in relief, he cautiously peeked through the opening and surveyed the room. There, in a far corner, was what looked to be a convention of Gryffindors. Blaise curled his lip in disgust, more than thankful that he would not be forced into enduring that kind of company any longer. At last he would be free of the brash, abrasive and loud louts that made up that House. Quickly assessing that his progress towards the private room in the corner wouldn’t be noticed, especially when Potter was bellowing like an irate hippogriff while all three were trying to calm him down, he hurriedly made a beeline for the closed corner room and silently thanked Merlin when he found it free of pesky wards. Performing a quick but complicated unlocking charm, he quickly slid inside.

He approached the figure in the bed slowly, his eyes drinking in the sight of a vulnerable and defenseless Draco Malfoy. Never had such a thing happened in all his years living with the boy. His mate always hid behind a mask of haughty demeanor and aloof civility. Not a single person could call himself a confidante of the boy without being a called a liar. His whole house had always flocked to him, afraid of his father’s influence and more than a little cowed by his indiscriminating cruelty. They laughed at his lame jokes and pretended to hang on his every word. He had more power than any student in their House. By default he was crowned their ruler, for if Gryffindor had their golden boy in Harry Potter, Slytherin had its silver prince in Draco Malfoy. After all, it was hard to dispute the Head of House’s godson. The extent of his reign also extended outside the dingy walls of the dungeon. He led by example and his behavior was mirrored by all. Tolerate the boring Ravenclaws, ridicule the pathetic Hufflepuffs and antagonize the brash Gryffindors. The last was probably the most ambiguous one, for everyone could be snide to all Gryffindors except one. It was an unspoken rule that they all learned the hard way. You did not mess with Harry Potter unless you wanted to be in pain. Nobody messes with Potter, except Draco. It was something that Blaise knew Theodore wouldn’t likely forget. The boy had vicious night terrors for a month. So it was no surprise that the people he was constantly with were mere minions instead of true friends. Blaise had often envied him. How could he not? Never in a million years would he have as much power, influence or cold beauty as a Malfoy. But now…now that he was staring at their prince, lying there scarred and broken by his own father, he couldn’t help but think that maybe the boy everyone envied wasn’t as fortunate as he once thought.

He set his wrapped bundle on the bedside table. His hand trembling as he fingered his wand. It would be so easy, so extremely ridiculously easy to kill him right now. Just a flick of his wrist and unforgiving words on his lips and it would be done. After what he witnessed today, he would surely be honored and cherished above all because of such a feat. All the Slytherins knew exactly what transpired between father and son, having cast the Translation Spell surreptitiously. He knew Malfoy Senior would be undoubtedly pleased. Hell! He might even get special recognition from the Dark Lord himself! He would be hailed as a hero for killing a pureblood traitor. He would finally get what he had been pining for all those years: power, influence and esteem. Things he could no doubt snatch from the boy lying prone before him if he only had the strength to kill the boy in cold blood.