Secrets
Blaise awoke with a start at the whooshing sound that accompanied his mother’s return. He had no idea what time it was, but judging from how tired he felt and the fact that he was still actually in a sitting position he realized that he couldn’t have been asleep for too long.
“It’s late son,” he realized that he missed her soft voice, “get some sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“No,” Blaise said firmly, “I want to talk about it now, and I want to find out how you knew to begin with.”
“Knew?” she asked locking eyes with him, “What do you mean knew?”
“How did you know I received a letter asking me to join his ranks?” he answered simply.
“Show it to me,” Blaise found himself reaching inside his pocket automatically and getting up off the chair to let his mother sit. He noticed for the first time that she was quite tired, and as he pulled up another chair he found himself wishing he had agreed to leave it till the morning.
“I only suspected, predicted,” she broke the silence at last, “But this means we have to prepare faster.”
“Prepare for what exactly mother?” Blaise said his voice rising and his senses sharpening. There was no sleep left in his body as he prepared himself to soak up everything he heard.
“For how we are going to manage if,” she sighed, “If he doesn’t agree to wait, and even if he does what we’ll do when the time is up. I am going to get you out of this Blaise.”
“What makes you think I want to get out of it?” he asked calmly. He wasn’t upset, but his mother was acting as if there was no doubt he didn’t want to be involved in this when he wasn’t sure himself.
He tried to concentrate on her stony face so he could pick up on any signs of emotion if she showed it. Just the fact that she stayed silent for this long was an indication that she had never expected to hear this. He knew what his mother thought about involving yourself with dangerous things like war. He knew what she thought of the Death Eater’s activities and the insecurity of their life, and he agreed with most of it. What she didn’t seem to understand was that things were a lot more complicated than just that.
If he didn’t want to join the Death Eaters then he would inevitably be grouped with those fighting Voldemort, which was admittedly not something he wanted to do. Besides the fact that the darkest Wizard of the age would be after him, he would also have to deal with people who had so far been enemies and he did not want to lower himself enough to ever have to seek their protection.
“You want to do this?” his mother’s voice was hoarse and, strangely enough, it had a hint of defeat. He raised his eyes to hers and sighed trying to buy himself time before answering her.
Blaise knew that the acts committed by the Death Eaters were not things he wanted to do. A powerful wizard did not have to demand power in that way, it had to do with your mere presence. Like Dumbledore, he thought with a small smirk. Never had he thought of Dumbledore as someone to actually learn form before. It was, however, much more complicated than that. He was quite stuck, and he knew that no matter what he did, he would not be able to completely like the situation.
“What if I did mother?” he asked partly to see her reaction and partly because he was wondering what would happen if he did, “What if I did?”
The war could last for half a year or twenty, and as soon as he pledged allegiance to the Dark lord he knew he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that he would be just a spy for the whole time. The real question was, was there anything worth that risk?
Malfoy hadn’t even shown reluctance to do his master’s bidding and he’d seen it fit to persuade the boy using his mother. Blaise almost spat the word out in his mind, master indeed. But if he or his mother showed reluctance to obey immediately there was big chance that Aveline Zabini could be hurt.
“Blaise,” she whispered, “You can’t be serious about this.”
“Why not?” he asked, “Mother it’s not only about morals, and doing what’s best for myself, there’s so much else to consider.”
“Like?” her voice was now dripping venom.
“Like how we’re going to live running from the Lord who’s bidding we refused,” he said loudly, “If he wins then we will not be looked upon highly at all, and by then there won’t be anywhere left to run. And even if he doesn’t, the other side will not be as nice and welcoming as they seem. War does things to people and they get suspicious and angry, I’m a Slytherin, a snake, I’ll be on the top suspect list even if I haven’t done a thing.”
“Well I can buy you time, and then we can disappear. No one will know us, or even remember us if we come back here after the war is over son. If we don’t do anything drastic then no one will have a reason to remember us for the good or bad.”
“I’m not sure I want to be the amazing vanishing Slytheirn anymore mother. I’m not sure I want to be on the run. I have to choose a side, to know what I want, where I stand.”
“And you would choose the ranks of the Death Eaters or the Order of the Pheonix over freedom son, freedom is dear no matter how difficult it is. Master is a bitter word to say even for the most miserable being.”
“And once you’ve said it, it’s life,” Blaise continued, “But I’m not sure I want to be on the run mother. What if I don’t want to hide in the shadows anymore?”
“Don’t be stupid Blaise,” he couldn’t remember the last time she’d used his name, “This is much bigger than some sort of stupid game. This is not time to think about glory, you are not a Gryffindor and you know it.”
“No I’m not Aveline,” he answered venomously, “But I’m not a child either so don’t speak to me like one.”
She stared at him in silent shock.
“Who exactly am I anyhow?” he demanded loudly, “What if I’m tired of watching people do things and not be anymore than the observer? What if I’m tired of not knowing who I bloody am?”
“Who you are,” it was a barely audible whisper, “I would have thought you’d at least want to be more than someone’s lapdog. And if you choose a side that’s all you’re going to be Blaise,” she emphasized the last word as if daring him to openly confront her about it. It was as if she wanted him to ask her why she didn’t see fit to call him son.
Blaise decided to ignore his mother for a few seconds and began to fidget with the chain in his pocket in an attempt to cool himself down. It would not do for him to lose anymore control, he had already called his mother by her first name (for the first time) in his anger.
“Who was he?” Blaise asked deciding to change track completely. There was just no point arguing about something when even he didn’t know what he wanted yet, and he really needed to know the meaning and implications of what Slughorn had said.
“What?” he had expected her to be completely baffled by this turn of conversation. After all she still had no idea he’d found out.
“Who was my father?” he clarified in an impatient voice, “If I’m going to sit here and decide to live the rest of my life on the run because of your stupid morals then I can at least know who my other parent was, why you killed him.”
“How dare you, you stupid insensitive boy!” he backed away slightly and pulled his hand out of his pocket, chain and all, and held it up before him.
He did not miss the sudden paling of her face, or the fact that she seemed to suddenly deflate the slightest bit.
“Who was he,” Blaise continued knowing he was on very sensitive ground, and knowing that he would never be forgiven for this, “The first? Second? Fourth? Seventh perhaps?”
“What are you talking about Blaise?”
“Are you denying that you were married seven times and all your husbands died mysterious and rather untimely deaths?” he asked, “I’m not upset because I never had a father, nor because you failed to mention these interesting facts to me, because frankly who would? But since we’re talking about murder I want to know why you killed my father, and then maybe I can decide if some things are worth it or not.”
She collapsed. She just suddenly fell down on to the small tea table and looked at him with hollowed eyes.
“I killed seven husbands none of them was your father,” she said, “I am not the image of morality, nor do I regret being what I am, but I did regret one murder. A murder you will have to commit a thousand times if you join him, and I am not stupid enough to believe for a second that you have it in you to lay aside everything and fight for a noble cause. We have no part in this war Blaise. No part.”
“How would I know that if I didn’t know who I was?” he asked quietly, “Like father like son they say. How do I know my father wasn’t a Death Eater or a bloody Gryfindor, or a Huflepuff?”
“Find another way to understand who you are Blaise,” there she went using his damn name again, “Because you will never find out anything about your father.”
Blaise knew that when his mother spoke in that unnaturally calm voice it was the end of the discussion. He wished, for the second time that night, that he had just left it to the morning. It was too late. He would not be able to bid his mother goodnight as if he was still five years old. He would not be able to sit with her over breakfast and discuss his grades. He would never be forgiven, and at that moment he knew that he would also never forgive.
He stalked out of the house calmly and lit the tip of his wand quickly thrusting it before him. He knew that the decisions he made in life were not only his, because they affected his mother as well, but for her part she didn’t seem to care which decisions affected him or not. She didn’t even respect him enough to tell him the truth.
