The Summons
Blaise collapsed in the snow after almost and hour of being bombarded with very fast, well-aimed snowballs. He determined that he would never let Celeste rope him into another one of these stupid “games” again. She dropped to her knees beside him, laughing, and Blaise was suddenly hit with the full effect of her strange power to calm anyone she was near.
He watched her for a while as she molded the snow around her into different shapes. She was working on a particularly intricate piece; he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be yet, when he spoke. “Do you do that on purpose?” he asked.
“What?” he felt a sudden sting in his flesh as she said that.
“The calming thing,” he said rubbing his forearm, “You know…”
“Huh?” Celeste looked completely oblivious, and his stupid arm wouldn’t stop stinging. He looked down and suddenly it hit him. This was his left forearm. He had almost forgotten all about it during last few crazy hours playing with the children and his sister, but now all those abandoned thoughts that came with the Mark and the war returned.
“Don’t play smart with me,” he said, now frantically trying to convince himself that this could not be a summons, not now when he had only a few hours to spend with Celeste and mother before returning to Hogwarts, “You can’t have failed to notice that you calm people around you.”
“Well,” Celeste said coming closer and placing her hand on top of his right hand (which was clutching desperately at his left forearm), “I do have a way with children and…”
“Magic,” Blaise gasped, “How can you be using bloody magic without noticing it almost all the time.”
“Blaise are you alright?” Celeste’s worried eyes made his heart jump and shocked the sense back into him.
He pulled a deep breath and then grabbed her shoulders, “Get inside,” he hissed, “Take your wand out…remember the spells I taught you, I need to go.”
“But, Blaise – wait, what’s wrong?”
“Now, Celeste, please.”
She nodded, pulling her new wand out and giving his hand a light squeeze before obeying and rushing inside. Blaise really hoped she wouldn’t have to use it tonight as he saw the door close behind her.
He Apparated to the Dark Lord and came face to face with… Severus Snape.
As if his arm had been flung into a bucket of ice, the pain suddenly decreased considerably. He soon realized that he was surrounded by other Death Eaters, all hooded and masked, and that Snape was looking at him with that expression he always wore when forced to deduct points from Slytherin.
“How the hell did I get here- professor?”
“You are here because the Dark Lord wishes for you to be here,” Snape said and he nodded to the others at which point they immediately began their advance into what he suddenly realized was a quiet, sleepy town, “Whoever told you that spying meant you didn’t have to do any of the dirty work was a liar, Mr. Zabini. That’s what this is for.”
Blaise fixed his gaze on the silvery mask his former Professor was holding up and shook his head silently. This could not be real. This could not be happening. Snape shoved the mask into his arms and turned away, staring at the houses that had now become their target.
Wasn’t it already bad enough? Blaise thought, he did not deserve this, this was not what he had signed up for when he disregarded his mother’s advice by taking the Mark. He was vaguely aware of his hands trembling as he placed the horrible thing before his face, blocking out the world: becoming a Death Eater.
He followed Snape, millions of fears and doubts suddenly crossing his mind. Was it safe to even talk? Was the Dark Lord watching from somewhere? The fact that the Dark lord could send them wherever he wanted with their Dark Marks was rather unsettling, what else could he do from this distance?
Suddenly one of the other Death Eaters fell into step with him and nodded, “Zabini” was all he said, but that was enough for Blaise to recognize the owner of the voice. It was Draco. He looked from Draco to Snape and realized it was much easier following behind his Professor, he could do it almost mechanically, maybe that was how Draco felt all the time, like he was being protected from the world, from himself, as long as he followed Professor Snape.
A gut wrenching shriek suddenly rent the air and Blaise looked around at the looming shadows that were the houses of their victims. He shuddered visibly and couldn’t help letting out a strangled sort of noise.
“Listen, Zabini,” Snape rounded on him, “You might have thought this was all some sort of game when you joined up, but I assure you that it is not. You will walk these streets with the rest of us for the next hour before you go home and you will give me and the rest of the Death Eaters something to show the Dark Lord when we report to him.”
Blaise shook his head dumbly again, but when Snape ignored him and walked on he followed, still in step with Draco. His head was still moving, however, desperately. There was nowhere to run, no way to escape this, he was going to become a murderer before morning.
“Sonoricricious,” Draco hissed from beside him, “Snape made it up. It makes them scream like bloody death and it’s the same color as the Cruciatus, but it’s not really supposed to hurt that much. Cast it non-verbally.”
Draco flicked his wand in a slightly complicated motion and a jet of red light erupted from it, hitting a Muggle before he could escape down a deserted alley. Not really supposed to hurt, that was what Draco thought, but Blaise wasn’t so sure. Snape didn’t look like he cared about anything, especially some Muggles he’d never met or Draco’s feelings, at the moment, and who was to say it didn’t hurt even more than the unforgivable torturing curse. But there was nowhere else to go, so Blaise willed himself to believe it and raised his wand.
He could see some of the other Death Eaters casting glances his way and made sure to look decidedly sinister and crazy when they were looking. Blaise tried his best to shut out the screams and the haunted frightened looks of their owners, he tried his best to block out everything but getting through the next hour. He even closed his eyes for a while, but he could not block out the hollow feeling in his chest. He could not stop thinking about it, could not stop regretting.
Suddenly he realized that Snape and Draco were nowhere to be found and he panicked. He ran through the streets like a madman, which, he thought, he sort of was, looking for them, abandoning all else but his need to find them. Who else would get him out of this?
Bellatrix was there that day and Blaise found this out in the most horrible way possible. He saw her looking, cast the stupid curse and looked back at her with the edge of his eye. She was staring not at him, but at the pained expression of the helpless Muggle man he was casting the curse at. The man was standing in front of his doorway protectively before he was hit with the curse and even now he was trying to get back to his feet to stand blocking the entrance to his home. Blaise suppressed a shudder and then turned his gaze back to Bellatrix.
She nodded.
Blaise collapsed to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach and what felt like a foot of his intestines, out onto the pavement (and on his mask). He closed his eyes but to no avail. There had been understanding in that nod, almost respect, as if they shared something; some connection, some interest. And Bellatrix Lestrange’s only interest was torture. Blaise shuddered and fell forward, putting his arms out before him to stop the fall just in time.
He didn’t know how long he was there, on is hands and knees, listening to the screams and wails and the maniacal laughter of his…comrades, and smelling the disgusting smell of the mess that was stuck to his mask.
Finally he pointed the wand at the thing and cleaned it, and there was such a relief in begin free of the mess sticking to his mouth and on the edges of his mask that he felt sick all over again. He felt petty and disgusting for thing about such a thing when all around him…
Suddenly, without knowing what had hit him he was thrown back a few paces. His right shoulder suddenly felt cool and light. Blaise looked down to find blood trailing from a large wound. He looked back up immediately, the wound had to be magical which meant that the Aurors had arrived.
His hands flew to his mask and he found himself suddenly desperate to make sure it stayed on, concealed his identity, his errors; his shame. He struggled to his feet and saw that most of the Aurors were occupied with the other Death Eaters and that whoever it was that had hexed him was not paying any more attention to him. He knew that curse, he’d seen it before on Draco; a long gash across his chest had sent him to the hospital wing for days.
Blaise took a few moments to survey his surroundings and then dashed into a small side-alley, the blood still trickling from a wound he didn’t know how to heal. He propped himself against a wall and began tearing at his robes with his functional arm, trying to get a piece big enough to wrap his wound with.
“You’re losing your mind, dolt!” he whispered to himself and raised his wand, casting a quick Diffindo. The strip of cloth was long enough and he wrapped it around his wound awkwardly, but the blood didn’t seem to want to be contained. He rested his head against the wall and looked up at the green-tinged sky. Maybe it’s just that eager to escape this filthy body, he thought, that eager to escape the mess you’ve put it in.
He lost consciousness slowly, fully aware of the fact that his mind was working slower and slower. Blaise woke slowly, to a commotion and arguments that hurt his head. He tried to open his eyes but found that the lights around the room hurt too much.
“Speak to me, son,” Mother’s voice was soft and her and cool on his forehead, “You’re going to be alright, just speak to me.”
“Mother…” he gasped, but that that was all he could manage.
“Dim the lights Draco,” it was Snape’s voice and as soon as he said it Blaise realized that he had been humming something incomprehensible before. He almost missed the noise, “I cannot do anything more for this wound, the rest of the healing will have to occur slowly. The blood replenishing potion has saved his life, Aveline, it is almost a miracle that you had so much. He will not be able to get up, though, let alone go to school in this state.”
“Of course he won’t go to school!” Mother said sharply. Her worried, protective expression made Blaise finally feel safe. Suddenly he noticed that there were others in the room. Draco was lounging against the far wall and Celeste was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, her eyes large and round and frightened.
“Aveline, you need to understand,” Snape urged, “He must attend his classes tomorrow or else he will most definitely be suspected and if he is suspected he will be of no more use to the Dark Lord.”
Mother ground her jaw and glared at Blaise’s former Potions Master as he applied some sort of salve to Blaise’s shoulder. A small warm hand settled into his own and he looked to the side to find Celeste kneeling next to his bed.
“I know you must have warned him against this, Aveline, but if Blaise’s situation was difficult this summer when he received the summons it is impossible now. You don’t say no to the Dark Lord, but endangering his plans is much, much worse and he wants a spy at Hogwarts at all times.”
“Can’t you see, Severus,” Mother was becoming frustrated, but the warm feeling was spreading from Celeste’s hand to all parts of his body making him more comfortable, just a little stronger, “He can’t move, he can barely speak. There is no way he will be able to heal in time for his classes tomorrow. I’ll make excuses for him with McGonagall.”
Snape was silent but his face was grim, Blaise knew the situation was impossible. If he didn’t show up the night after the attack then there was no way McGonagall was going to have any more delusions, they Ministry would probably be at their house for a raid before noon. They couldn’t run from the Ministry and they couldn’t run from Voldemort, they most certainly could not run from both.
He squeezed his sister’s hand in his and took in a deep breath. Blaise might have got himself stuck in a bloody Acromantula’s net of a predicament, he might be on the verge of death or worse, but he had one more card to play.
“P…parchment,” he breathed, “Quill.”
“Blaise, you need to rest…”
“No,” he whispered, “I can fix this, please.”
His mother propped him up on the pillows and Snape summoned some parchment a quill, eyeing him curiously as he handed them over. Blaise let go of Celeste’s hand, immediately missing it, and penned a quick letter. Mother tied the letter to the owl for him. “You haven’t written an address, son, shall I write it for you?”
Blaise shook his head just a little. He stroked the owl’s feathers. “You know where to go.”
He waited a few minutes, until the letter was well on its way to Hogwarts and then looked at Snape because he couldn’t bear to ask Mother to trust him this time without an explanation. “Take me to the shrieking shack.”
