What a Terrible Mess

Chapter 8

McGonagall, Madame Pomphrey, Blaise, Hagrid and Snape had all gathered in Dumbledore's office, staring on in shock at the makeshift hospital bed and ward Pomphrey had set up. In that bed lay Albus Dumbledore, a man they all believed to be dead. All except for Blaise. Blaise sat in a chair, next to the bed. His shoulders were back, his chest puffed out proudly. There was an I'm-the-most-awesome-person-ever look on his face and he stopped occassionally to look adoringly at his manicure, or to scent the air. Several mediwands were free floating around Dumbledore, each doing their own thing. One gave a constant reading on different vital signs, another spewed a continuous flow of helpful and healing medical spells. Yet another one made the oxygen as pure as possible. Another IV like contraption was hooked up to Dumbledore, much like Draco's, steadily pumping helpful potions into the old wizard. No one, except Blaise of course, could believe what they were seeing. Hagrid had been the one to go with Blaise (due to a few well placed hexes, against his will) and retrieve the Headmaster, and even he couldn't believe what he saw.

Blaise's contribution to the whole set up, besides the actual wizard, Blaise reminded himself, were the lemon drops. They stood alone, pristinely waiting on a table beside the bed. Blaise liked that touch the best he thought. It kinda warmed up the whole scene.

"Can I *go* now? I really *really* need a shower. I've done my bit. I need a nap too. It takes quite a bit of rest to look this good you know," he drawled, feeling more like Draco. McGonagall and the others simply just nodded their heads in his general direction- still just staring at the wounded old man.

"He'll be okay you know. While we were moving him around, trying to get here, he would wake up and talk to us some. Just a little though." No one replied. Blaise sighed, "I'm going to go check on Draco." He offered. No one seemed to hear him this time either, "whatever. I got stuff to do." he snapped and walked off. No one really appreciated him as much as he thought he ought to be appreciated.

It didn't take long to get in and out of the shower and dressed in his silk robes his mother had bought for him. He briefly wondered how much longer his mum and Aunt Cissa would be out from the sleeping potion Uncle Sev had given them. Oh boy, he wanted to be awake from that. A lot of people thought Blaise and Draco's tempers were atrocious. What most didn't realize that it was really just the dilluted down attitude of their mothers. He snickered to himself and covered the last few feet between him and Draco's bed in the big empty room. Yet, he couldn't open the curtains. Between his spell, Pomphrey's and he suspected Potter's as well, there was no way. Potter must be rather good at charms too, he thought placing his own back on the curtains and turning to leave. It was a beautiful night he noticed, gazing through the window.

It had been a long time since Blaise had noticed the beautiful night sky or thet moon. It had been months since he'd noticed the sweltering weather he and Draco had suffered through, hiding in some of the most terrible places, afraid to use their magic. Fall was on it's way now. He hadn't noticed a lot of things, he supposed, not even the slightly changing leaves, the smell of autumn on the breeze, not even that same breeze cooling his still damp skin, not even that... that smell.

Blaise Zanbini snapped to attention. He'd know that scent anywhere. It was his bondmate. He was close to his bondmate. He rushed to the window, almost appearing to have apparated there from using so much speed. A smallish figure was down by the lake, throwing stones into the water, watching them skip. Blaise scented the air again, his nostrils flaring. Excitement and adrenaline pushed through him as he realized that he was right, that was his bondmate, and he couldn't wait to meet him.

Blaise Zabini was still very weak from all the strenuous activity he'd bee through in... Merlin, he didn't know how long it had been since he'd gotten sleep. Or eaten. He didn't care though. He'd found his bondmate. He rushed through the castle, skipping whole flights of stares. Several times, he tried to compose himself but could not, not until he was closer. Blaise felt as if he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life, and technically he had. Nothing could surpass this. This was what Blaise had lived and breathed for. This person he was quickly approaching was the reason he survived Voldemort, the reason he'd crawled through his own blood to escape, and the reason he lived and breathed. He had to meet them, had to touch them.