BLURRY | Blaise Zabini x Reader

𝟏𝟔 : RESEARCH . . .

. . .

You awoke at seven in the morning on Saturday after a nightmare which involved Draco, Theo, and a lot of red light. While Lucy and Arabella continued to sleep, you got up, brushed your teeth, and pulled on your Slytherin house jumper. You stuffed your wand in your pocket (it stuck out and occasionally poked you in the stomach) and exited the dorm and dungeons, making your way up the Grand Staircase towards the Great Hall. 

By seven–twenty-five, the hall's huge mahogany doors were already propped open; most of the professors and a few students were leaning over their breakfasts or talking amongst themselves.

You waved to Alexandra and Renee, two of John's friends, at the Ravenclaw table. Alexandra was reading The Daily Prophet with a quill tucked behind her ear, while Renee– her curly chestnut brown hair tied up in a knot– was stretching her neck apparently in preparation for Quidditch practice. 

You sat down and considered what you wanted for breakfast. Besides three sixth-year Slytherins talking enthusiastically with Professor Snape, you were the only one of your house at the table. You were exhausted– even before the bad dream, it had taken you about an hour to fall asleep, because you kept rolling around thinking about how Theodore was still in the hospital wing.

Something was off about the whole situation. It wasn't just that Draco had turned on his best friend, nor that he had told Madam Pomfrey the injuries came from an "accident"– but the fact that Theo wasn't healing, and that he didn't even seem to blame Draco for it. "My parents happened," he'd said. What could that possibly mean?

To your surprise, the smell of hot oatmeal wafted up to you from your plate. Great. Very exciting breakfast. Within fifteen minutes, you'd scarfed it down, along with two glasses of orange juice, a piece of toast, and half of a sliced pear. You would need energy for all the research you were going to do that day. 

You decided to kill time on the grounds until the library opened. It was chilly and your breath came out in clouds ahead of you. Shining beads of dew tipped each blade of grass that you could see, creating a sort of terraneous constellation.

The gamekeeper Hagrid's overlarge wooden hut sat near the forest far past the Quidditch pitch. No one was out for practice yet– indeed, no one was out at all. It was the beginning of the weekend and Hogwarts seemed completely deserted. Except for...

"Oi! Wait up!"

The boy turned around, eyes perfectly wide, neck muscles perfectly stretched– God, I hate him– and stopped. "Yes?"

Excellent.

You jogged up to Blaise, who seemed about to turn back into the castle (although you had no idea where he'd come from), and opened your mouth. There was a pause. He leaned his head forward a little as if to say, "go on".

"Er– what are you doing out here?"

"None of your business. What are you doing?"

"What?" You blinked. He glanced at the doors, apparently in a rush. He was tapping his foot and his eyes were bloodshot and somewhat swollen. "I'm just... Are you alright?"

"Perfectly."

"Did you go to see Theo?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Hell of a state he's in."

"I know." You felt your heart ache a little. You hadn't seen them together in ages, so it had been easy to forget how close the seventh-year Slytherin boys really were. Of course, after so many years of friendship... "You must feel awful."

"He feels awful. What I feel doesn't really matter, does it?"

"I guess..."

"Anyway, you were going to tell me what you were doing here."