Interludes

Draco mused as he sat at his desk.

A Remembrall was hardly better than the Muggle method of tying a string around one's finger in order to remember something. One would later look down at one's hand, notice the string, and remember that they were supposed to remember something, but not what it was that they were to remember. So they would tie another string around another finger to remind themselves to remember what they were supposed to remember in the first place, only that wouldn't work either, so they would continue tying strings around fingers until there were no more fingers around which to tie strings.

It was the same with the Remembrall. One could take it in one's hands and, if one had forgotten something, the smoke would turn crimson. But what was the use if one had no recollection of what they wanted to remember?

///

Sixth year.

Blaise sat on her bed, brushing her auburn curls, and stared off into space.

October was more than halfway through, and it had started in mid-September.

So a month, give or take a few days.

This was the hardest Blaise had fallen and she was sick of it.

Every time she saw Pansy, pretty Pansy, sweet Pansy, snarky Pansy, her heart shattered into a million pieces and Pansy's light, caring comments at once fixed her and made her worse.

"We need to talk," Pansy had said, less than a week into October.

"Okay," Blaise said slowly, half-knowing what it was about, half-knowing that it was going to be an unhappy ending.

It was warm, still, and they were outside, and they walked slowly away from Draco and Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle and Blaise looked back over her shoulder, pleadingly, at Draco, who only nodded at her to keep going.

Blaise had kicked off her shoes a while before, and they lay on the ground beside Draco where she had been sitting, four-inch wooden-heeled black suede clogs with white stitching and silver studs that killed her small, pretty feet, and padded through the soft, lush green grass beside Pansy in her stocking feet. She was a considerable bit shorter without her heels; Pansy was easily five or six inches taller than her.

They stopped in the shade underneath a big elm tree.

"Look," Pansy said, "are you okay?"

Blaise didn't meet her eyes, knowing she'd see only compassion and sorrow in their gray-green depths and instead watched her toes drawing circles in the grass. Her toes were visible through her tights and she could see where the blood red polish was chipping.

"Blasie--" the use of the childhood nickname broke Blaise's heart "-I'm really worried about you. You haven't been eating or sleeping, you've thrown yourself into your work and don't talk to us anymore..." Pansy trailed off uncertainly.

Blaise looked up and stared at her best friend. How was she supposed to explain what it was like? How was she supposed to explain that every time she saw Pansy, her stomach revolted and turned over and tied itself into a fluttery knot, her legs started shaking and she became dizzy and lightheaded? How could Pansy see how hard it was for her? Blaise couldn't eat, not when most days, her meals forced themselves up again from being in such close proximity with Pansy. The most she could keep down most days was coffee in the mornings, and a bit of tea in the afternoons. Some days she managed a quick bite of something if Pansy was in late from Quidditch practice.

And as for sleep - thoughts of what could have been, and what weren't, plagued her mind until she tossed and turned and kicked off her covers and pulled them back up again countless times and finally, in the wee hours of the morning, nodded off into a restless sleep, filled with haunting dreams of running through the East Garden, the Chinese one, in the Zabini Manor with Pansy when they were children and barefoot and their hair was tied back with pretty silk ribbons matching the colors of their dresses.

So she would wake up, exhausted, and choose her clothes carefully, making sure she didn't watch Pansy, and brush her hair, and apply her cosmetic charms, and go to breakfast, and have her coffee milky sweet with lots of sugar and milk, just the way she liked it. Draco would watch her, concerned, because she was one of his Slytherins and they were meant to watch out for each other, and they had all grown up together, and he could see how much she was breaking inside, but he didn't force her to eat anything.

And then it would be Potions, and Blaise and Pansy would sit together - Blaise almost sobbed aloud - and she would concentrate on their work, and pretend it was okay. And Pansy would be concerned, but because Blaise was pretending, she would, too.

She tried to escape the pain by working, always working, spending free time in the Library, doing her homework beyond the assignment, earning House points and grades as good as Granger's, better, even, when it came to Potions.

"Look, love," Pansy said, her gentle words breaking Blaise out of her reverie, "I'm flattered. I really am. And I'm really sorry, too, and I do love you, just..."

"I know," Blaise said quietly, voice husky and thick with tears.

Pansy put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I'm not going to stop caring about you. You're still my best friend, you know."

"Yeah, I know." It's just small consolation, she wanted to say, it doesn't make things better, you don't know what it's like, Pansy, you don't know.

But she didn't say anything more.

"I'm always here for you." Even that hurt Blaise, but Pansy meant it, she could see it in her eyes, and somehow, her caring hurt, too.

Pansy reached forward and hugged Blaise tightly just for a minute and then it was gone and Blaise, surprised, only just had enough time to put her arms up around Pansy before she pulled away, looked at her for a moment, and walked back towards the others.

Blaise turned the other way and walked back up to the castle. Twenty minutes later, Draco came up into the girl's dorm, handed Blaise her shoes, and told her that it was going to be okay.

Bullshit, but sweet of him to say just the same.

///

Stop avoiding me, Pansy wanted to say, meet my eyes, it's going to be okay, it's just a crush, I know you've fallen, but it will be okay and you will get over it and I still care about you, I just want you to be okay. There's no time to breathe, get back, stop avoiding me.

But she didn't.

Pansy glanced at Blaise over the top of her Transfiguration text, looked at the pretty pale girl with soft, full lips and big beautiful amber eyes that could ice over in an instant and melt even Professor Snape's heart.

Pansy sighed softly and went back to her homework.

///

Blaise put down her brush, the horsehair one, with an onyx handle.

"I'm going to the library," she said, standing up and pulling a robe on over her simple blue knee-length soft cotton skirt that swished comfortably around her legs as she walked and her black t-shirt. She slipped her feet into the same clogs she had been wearing that day she and Pansy had talked and picked up her black-and-cerise Hervé Chapelier school bag that she had gotten over the summer while in Paris with her family.

Muggles were stupid and close-minded and petty, but they did have fantastic fashion senses.

Millicent waved to her distractedly and Pansy murmured a quiet good-bye as Blaise clicked out of their dorm and through the common room.

Blaise took her time as she walked to the library. She kept her head bent so that her layered curls hid most of her face, but she was still aware of the stares she received as she walked through the halls. Although she hadn't been eating much lately, her form was slender without being overly bony and she was curvy enough so that her robes hung well on her.

And she was pretty, too - even though she hadn't bothered to charm away the circles under her eyes and had no more make-up on than a touch of lip gloss, her features were delicate and well-formed: clear, pale skin, high, aristocratic cheekbones, and the lightest dusting of freckles on her nose.

And her eyes - they were huge. Her lashes were long and dark and the lilac smudges under her eyes gave her an air of vulnerability, as did her slight stumble in her heels. And her eyes themselves, filled to the brim with pain and sickness, drew everyone right in and made them want to take her apart and put her back together so everything was okay.

Only problem was that none of them were the one that she wanted.

///

Draco hated the feeling of having forgotten something. He picked up his Remembrall, but the smoke stayed gray.

///

Professor Snape threw down his quill. He wasn't sure if it was just him or if the students actually were getting stupider.

Oh well - there would be more time for grading later. He stood up from his desk and stretched, cracking his back and neck, cramped from hours of marking paper after terrible paper.

He cracked his knuckles as he walked to the black marble bathroom of his private quarters and washed his hands free of the stains from the red ink he favored for corrections.

Finishing, he dried his hands on a white linen towel and settled into a green leather chair in his bedroom with the latest issue of Ars Alchemia. He had been meaning to catch up on his reading but quickly found his attention wandering.

Blaise Zabini had been withdrawn lately, much quieter than normal and eating less. Her work didn't seem to be suffering; in fact, she was pushing Granger for place as best student.

But something was definitely wrong with the girl. Perhaps, he mused, he'd call her into his office later so they could talk. She'd never had much of a problem with opening up to him in the past; it might be best for her if she had someone to whom she could open up completely.

Yes, that did seem like the best plan and with that, Snape turned back to his reading.

///

The library was always crowded on Sundays, filled with students who had procrastinated with finishing their assignments and were now doing them at the last minute.

As such, Blaise stood there, biting her lower lip, already swollen from having been bitten much too much recently, nervously pawing the floor with one foot.

"Blaise?" She heard an uncertain voice call her name and turned to see Granger standing up at a table, leaning on it with her weight on her palms and fingertips, knuckles slightly bent. She was alone, but there was a stack of books and papers near her.

"Yes?" Blaise didn't have the same rancor for Gryffindors that Draco and most other Slytherins did, and Granger had always seemed like a bright one. That did not mean she wasn't wary of them all the same, and she cocked her head to the side as she studied the slightly frazzled-looking girl in front of her with skin as pale as Blaise's (though this was probably because Granger kept herself locked in the library) and frizzy curly hair.

"Would you...I mean...well, you could come sit and work with me, if you'd like, I mean...it's just, it seems like you take an interest in your work, too, and...you don't have to if you don't want to--"

"Okay," Blaise said, cutting off Granger's babble.

"What?"

"I'd like to sit and work with you," Blaise said, a wry smile twisting her lips.

"Oh! Here, let me just..." Granger shoved some of the piles over to make room for Blaise, who sat down across from the other girl. Having finished reorganizing her papers, Granger sat back down and smiled at Blaise, who smiled back.

Then Blaise bent her head, pulled out her Arithmancy homework, and started scratching away at some equations on which she had been working.

///

Hermione had surprised herself.

She didn't really know Blaise that well; she seemed a relatively quiet girl, really, and, unlike most of the other Slytherins, she didn't take the time to torment Harry, or, really, any of the Gryffindors.

And she was a good student, and Hermione couldn't help it, she had a soft spot for other good students, and Blaise had come into the library and looked so lost and so vulnerable, it didn't seem possible that she was from the Snake Pit.

So Hermione had reached out without even thinking and offered her a place to sit.

She had been even more surprised when the Blaise had accepted.

///

Blaise could feel Granger watching her, so she looked up, met the girl's eye, and smiled. Granger smiled back.

"What are you working on?" Granger asked.

"Oh, I'm just finishing up some Arithmancy homework."

Granger nodded, smiled a little bit again, and the two resumed working quietly.

///

Hermione glanced at her watch. 6.30 already? she thought to herself, surprised. Blaise looked up as she started packing her books away into her sturdy black bookbag.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. It's dinnertime, did you realize?"

"Already?" Blaise asked. It hadn't seemed like that much time had passed.

"Yeah. I-Well, I'm going to head over to the Great Hall. Do...Do you want to walk with me?"

"Oh, no, I'm not very hungry. Thanks, though."

"Okay..." Hermione surprised herself for a third time that day by feeling slightly disappointed. Although she and Blaise hadn't exchanged more than a few words, Blaise still seemed like a good person, and Hermione had enjoyed her company. "Well, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"All right. Have a good night, Gr-Hermione."

"You too, Blaise."

Hermione walked out of the library, unable to help the feeling that she had made a new friend.

///

Blaise had meant to go back to work, but somehow after Hermione had left, she found herself unable to concentrate. So she, too, packed up her books and left the library, with the plan to go back down to the dorm to drop of her things, and then go take a bath. Pansy had been made prefect for their year, but she had given Blaise the password so that she could take baths in the much more luxurious tub that was made of rose marble and was pleasantly heated.

With these thoughts in mind, she continued down the vaguely damp, chilly stone corridor and almost did not hear her head of house calling her name.

"Miss Zabini?"

"Oh!" she said, surprised. "Professor Snape!"

"Skipping dinner again?"

"I'm not hungry, sir," she said.

He smiled gently at her. "No matter," he said. "I've been wanting to talk to you, anyway. Why not come to my office?"

"Okay," she agreed, and the two walked in a companionable silence to his rooms. Snape murmured the password and ushered the girl inside.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, "I'll be back in a moment."

She nodded and, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag, curled up in one of the big wooden chairs at his desk.

A few minutes later, Snape reappeared with a tray that he set down on the desk in front of Blaise. She leaned forward - a bowl of lentil soup, a warm, golden brown roll, spinach with lemon juice and a sprinkling of sea salt, a blood orange, already sectioned, and a few pieces of chocolate. There was a tall glass of lemonade, something Blaise preferred to pumpkin juice.

She looked up at Professor Snape, who was sitting across from her, tears in her eyes. He smiled with compassion. "Eat," he said. "You need sustenance."

She took a spoonful of the soup - it was fantastic. She could feel it warming her inside.

"How'd you know?" she asked a few moments later through a mouthful of spinach.

"I don't stay your head of house and very good friends with your parents to boot without picking up some things, child."

And Blaise knew it was true. The professor had never missed a birthday, always taking the time to send her a note and a little something he had picked up for her somewhere. Always thoughtful, Professor Snape was; he, like all good Slytherins, looked out for his own.

"So, child, why don't you tell me what's been bothering you? I know for a fact that this is the first proper meal you've eaten in weeks, and you haven't been sleeping properly, either." He watched Blaise squirm a bit and stick a piece of orange in her mouth. Her brow furrowed a bit as she chewed, then the creases smoothed themselves out.

"It's just that...well...I've fallen for someone I can't have. And it's killing me, Professor, it breaks my heart every time I see her, and--" Blaise's breath caught in her throat; she curled up into a tiny ball and sobbed.

Snape stood up and knelt by her chair, put his arms around the girl. She was shaking like a leaf, and she turned so that her head was buried in his shoulder.

"Shh...it's going to be all right, child," Professor Snape said softly, his voice quiet and soothing. He stroked her back as she cried, and she breathed in deeply, breathed in the smell of him: sandalwood, and musk, and the rosemary from the soap he used.

As her tears subsided, he handed her a handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Here," Snape said, and tucked a cloak around her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Eat your chocolate," he told her. "I'll be back." He walked into the Potions classroom, and Blaise nibbled on her chocolate and pulled his cloak tighter.

A moment later, he returned and pressed a vial into her hand.

"Dreamless Sleep," he said. "You need a good night's rest."

Blaise nodded.

"Good night, child."

"'Night, Professor."

She picked up her shoes and bag and stumbled back to her room, clutching the cloak around her.