Chapter 32: Mending Bridges

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

I settled at my favorite seat in the owlery, Minerva in my lap. Looking out over the castle grounds like this was nice no matter the time of day. And, it barely smelled like musty feathers anymore. The elves had taken to cleaning the owlery more thoroughly after I made a habit of eating here. I hadn’t even asked. Truly, it paid to be kind to the little buggers.

Upon request, the elves had been nice enough to prepare a steak burrito for me. The pico de gallo was a bit heavy on onions and could use a bit more lime juice, but it was a valiant effort. The skirt steak was seared to perfection and the morning’s leftover hashbrowns made it in to give it a nice crunch. Occasionally, I picked out a strip of skirt steak and fed it to the fluffball who reigned over this roost with iron talons.

My duel with Higgs was a mixed bag. I’d won the grudging respect of my housemates, but the other houses only stared at me with a mix of anger and fear. The twins’ regular pranks had gotten distinctly more malicious as of late. I’d have to do something about that soon-ish. Or… Maybe I didn’t? I hadn’t decided.

I heard footsteps approaching. There was only one other person who frequented the owlery at this awkward hour. Violet climbed the spire, only to sniff in annoyance as she saw me. It was adorable, like a kitten that didn’t know whether it wanted to demand affection or remain aloof.

“Zabini,” she huffed, her frown lightening when Hedwig flew to her shoulder to primp her hair. Well, either that or steal a few loose strands to pad her nest.

I tossed her a foil-wrapped burrito knowing she’d not thought to prepare her own lunch. Smiling, I patted the seat next to me. “Potter, care to join me?”

“The twins are planning on sneaking a boggart into the hallway near the dungeon.”

“Thank you for letting me know. A boggart likes enclosed spaces though, so I assume they’ll be placing a box inside one of the knights’ breastplates.”

“Probably,” she said.

“That’s not too bad. Boggarts turn into the deepest fears of their victims but have a fairly simple countercharm.”

“And what would a boggart turn into for you?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Fearless? You should’ve been a Gryffindor,” she scoffed.

“Of course not. I have fears like everyone else, but my fears are things that don’t have physical forms.”

“Like what?”

That was a loaded question if there ever was one. I glanced out over the school, the Black Lake sprawling out beneath me.

What did I fear? I feared that I would make everything worse. I feared that my visions could be wrong. I feared that Fate will one day grow tired of watching, or that she’ll insist on the script she’s written regardless of my own actions.

I feared becoming irrelevant.

I could hardly tell her that; that was altogether too heavy a conversation to have in the company of our adorable murder-chickens. So instead, I booped her nose and watched it scrunch up in annoyance.

“I fear wool socks. I build up static really easily for some reason and wearing them turns my hair into an afro,” I told her. I’d send ol’ Dumbles a pair this Christmas, just for kicks.

“Liar,” she grumbled. She sat moodily and took a bite of her burrito.

Her eyes lit up for a moment, only for her expression to sour shortly. It was adorable, like a kitten who was determined to stay grumpy no matter what. I’d noticed that about her, not her moodiness, her love of food.

Violet Potter was a surprisingly good chef, what with the Dursleys having foisted their housework onto her years ago. She wasn’t Michelin-quality or anything, but she probably had more experience behind a stove than I did despite our age gap.

That said, her repertoire when it came to food was incredibly shallow. The Dursleys were the kinds of people who couldn’t stand anything “un-British,” as if there was anything more British than cultural appropriation. Case in point: India, Britain’s spice rack.

She could tell me the perfect way to scramble an egg, but had never had anything more foreign than french fries. Telling her that fries weren’t in fact French had been a novel experience. Because of this, food was a great way to get through her moods.

Now that she wasn’t with her relatives, she took every chance to try different flavors. The quintessential Mexican dish was a calculated move.

“Are you really that upset about me helping my house win the game?” I asked.

“Why’d you do it? You knew people would hate you.”

“I didn’t, actually. I don’t know everything. I can’t know everything. There are other demands on my time and Sight than how people might react to a game being spoiled. No one else was even supposed to know.”

“So you beat up Higgs.”

“So I beat up Higgs.”

“Because everything is a message.”

“Exactly. And now, everyone knows I expect my contracts to be obeyed in the spirit they were made. You’re getting this faster than most of my housemates. I think the hat was right.”

“I don’t want greatness,” she said with a frustrated growl.

“I know,” I said with a smile. I gently bumped my shoulder into hers. “I also know that you’re not really upset with me. So? What’s really got you bothered?”

“I…” she looked away. “You’re going to laugh.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t like how people are telling me what to do…”

“So don’t listen to them.”

“They’re saying you’re not trustworthy, that you’re a slimy snake. They’re saying all this crap and…” She trailed off before taking another angry bite.

“It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Of course you’d say that,” she muttered as she glared down at her burrito. “What if it bothers me? What if I don’t want to hear them talking shit about my friend?”

I was beginning to understand. She wasn’t mad that I’d fucked with her game, not really. She cared more about the freedom of flying than she ever would about the house cup.

No, she was pissed because people were telling her who she could and could not be friends with. I had no doubt the Gryffindors were saying all sorts of mean things behind my back. While I didn’t personally care, I was likely one of the first friends she’d ever made.

Harry had always been a little emotional and headstrong, somewhat impulsive, even. Fierce protectiveness over his friends was something of a defining trait of his, oftentimes to the point of self-sacrifice. I could only assume Violet was similar.

And… And she wasn’t allowed to defend my character. I explicitly told her as much over the Sirius thing. She was supposed to be mad at me because a bit of distance between us was more convenient.

She’d already proven to be unusually sharp. She knew, or at least, had an inkling. She was afraid that if she stood up for me, she’d be jeopardizing my own plans, whatever they might be. And she’d be right; not being her friend made it easier to maneuver in Slytherin. Things were better for me if I could pass her off as a “cultivated asset” rather than a “friend.”

For a girl who was as action-oriented as her, for someone who felt that she had so few things worth protecting, this must have been unimaginably frustrating.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, almost before I knew what I was saying. “It seems I’ve put you in a difficult spot.”

“You think, genius?” she bit back.

“I wasn’t thinking,” I told her truthfully. “At least, not about you. When Pucey came to me for advice about the game, I saw a chance to expand my influence in the house and gain access to new spells for very little work, not how it’d affect you.”

“And? Did you?”

“Did I expand my influence in my house and gain new spells? Yes on both counts.”

“Good for you,” she said with an angry sigh. “I hate this. I hate everyone talking shit behind my friend’s back. I hate that you don’t seem to care.”

“Po-Violet, I’m your friend,” I said. I nudged her chin up until emerald eyes met mine. “I have your back for anything that really matters. I will act in your best interest, often without you knowing. But I’m also me. I can and will have plans in motion. Sometimes, those plans will inconvenience you.”

“You said no one was supposed to know, liar.”

“And sometimes, things won’t go according to plan. Sometimes, I’ll put a lot of faith in my housemate’s supposed knack for subterfuge and that faith will be grossly misplaced. Because, as it turns out, it’s much harder to predict an idiot than it is to predict a cunning man.”

“So what? I’m supposed to just sit there and let people talk trash about you?”

“Yes,” I said insistently. “I know that not doing anything bothers you, but I made my own problems. I should therefore be the one to find my own solutions.”

She stared at me mulishly. I was in the awkward position of trying to get a girl to not stand up for me. It was a novel feeling. I didn’t like it.

“The twins said they’re never giving you whatever you wanted. You know, for the rat thing,” she said.

“Yes, I’ve gathered. I’m sure the Weasleys think I’m the spawn of Satan at the moment,” I replied dryly. Not having the map was unfortunate, but it was ultimately something I wanted to study, not something I needed. “That’s just one of the plans I had in motion that Higgs’ little fuckup derailed. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll adapt.”

“How? I can help. If you told me what you were doing, I might feel better about leaving things alone.”

I leaned back, and almost fell because there wasn’t anything behind me but the window. I instead slumped forward with a tired sigh. “At this point, there isn’t much to do. I need to take it on the chin and lean into the mercenary aspect of being a seer.”

“You mean you’ll sell your services for every game. People are going to lynch you.”

“Not if I make it clear that every team can buy my services.”

“Then they can all give you money, or books, or whatever you got the first time,” Violet muttered. “Or they’ll all agree to not use your services, but that’ll never work because trusting the honor system is for idiots.”

I winced. She was, in fact, calling me an idiot. Which, fair. “It’s not just the captains. It’s everyone on all four teams who’d unanimously have to agree, and then keep their word.”

“And since that’s never going to happen, you’re going to be a very rich man… But you’re already rich. It strikes me that this whole mess started because of your greed,” she said, side-eyeing me.

I shrugged. “If they’re going to hate me, I’d rather get something out of it.”

“You’re not solving the problem. You’re just making things worse! Why not just stop touching quidditch at all?”

“Because the genie’s out of the bottle. Now that people know I can do this, everyone will always assume I’m doing this for the Slytherins, even if I’m not. When we win, it won’t be their doing, it’ll be mine.”

“So you might as well get something out of it…”

“Pretty much. This really isn’t worth wasting brain cells on,” I told her. “I have more pressing concerns than my popularity.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know who Rita Skeeter is?”

“No? Should I? Is that an upperclassman?”

“She’s a reporter, in the loosest sense of the word. I suspect she’ll come snooping around Hogwarts soon.”

“Do you want me to give her an interview?” she frowned. “I’m not okay with that.”

“I know. She’ll just twist everything you say to be as scandalous as possible, or just make up quotes you said if she thinks it’ll make for a spicier story. It’s what she does best.”

“Wait, how does she have a job?”

“Magical Britain doesn’t have journalism standards or ethics.”

“That’s… She won’t be allowed into the school.”

“She’ll sneak in because she’s an animagus.”

“Like Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes. Rita’s a beetle animagus. Her form is a shiny, green beetle about the size of your first knuckle,” I told her. Coincidentally, I saw both Minerva and Hedwig perk up at that. “Keep an eye out and catch her for me. Have one of your seniors reinforce a jar for you and keep her in it.”

“Why? Why would I want a weird gossip writer in a bottle?”

“Because she’ll go out of her way to sabotage your godfather’s trial to sell more papers. Just have Hedwig pass the bottle to Minerva; she’ll give it to me.”

“And why do you want her? I can just feed her to Trevor.”

I snorted at the image. If there was one way to convince Rita to reveal herself it’d be by tossing her in with Nevile’s toad. “Funny, but no. I doubt you want to kill anyone for real so we’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get in the way.”

“You’re going to blackmail her. The unregistered animagus thing. Professor Dumbledore said neither Sirius nor Peter were registered.”

“Right. That’s a few years in Azkaban, something I’m sure she’ll want to avoid. Worse, when people find out just how she’s been getting her scoops, others will want to kick her while she’s down. And she’s pissed off some rather influential people over the years.”

“Ooh… Can I watch?” she asked with an eerily bloodthirsty smile. It didn’t belong on a fourteen year old girl, but I supposed Violet had to grow up faster than most.

“Maybe. If you can find Rita before me, sure. I’ll also be looking. Until then, be careful about what you say, and to who.”

“Your life is so complicated.”

“It’s not. It only got complicated when I decided to help you, Vi.”

“So… Does this mean I can call you Blaise?” she asked with an unexpected shyness. “I mean… Since you’re calling me Violet.”

“When we’re alone.”

She leaned into me. “Slytherins make everything so complicated.”

“It’s what happens when you have a house full of self-professed masterminds. Go figure.”

X

Terence delivered by Thursday, much faster than I’d expected. Judging by his dark glares and the unsubtle way he flinched whenever I so much as looked at him, I suspected a healthy dose of trauma had something to do with it. 

He got me the absolute cheapest grimoire he could order via an online catalog, but he came through. Through the Looking Glass, no relation to the novel by Lewis Carroll, was a grimoire only in the most technical sense. It had a silver mirror attached to the back cover which could be used to scry the location of a single, attuned individual.

It probably still cost him around seventy or eighty galleons however. Seeing how I had a pest problem, I chose to graciously accept his tribute. Pressing him for more would have been unnecessary and sent the message that I was petty and cruel as well as an enforcer of contracts.

I put my very first grimoire away and got to charms with the Hufflepuffs. They especially didn’t like me, what with their overdeveloped sense of fair play.

Thankfully, Professor Flitwick was as jovial as ever. It was refreshing to see after all the glaring and nervous shuffling all week. He hopped from book-pile to book-pile like Mario as he lectured energetically about the history of locking and unlocking charms.

“Locking and unlocking charms are two sides of the same coin. Now, let me ask you all a question, just some food for thought,” he said as he bounced around like a manic gerbil. “How many locking spells are there? And, how many unlocking spells are there?”

Susan Bones tentatively raised her hand. “There should be an equal number of locking and unlocking charms, shouldn’t there, professor?”

“Explain your reasoning, Miss Bones.”

“Well, if I were a spellcrafter and wanted to make a new locking charm, I would naturally have to make the countercharm as well, right? Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to undo my own spell.”

“Excellent deductive reasoning. Take a point to Hufflepuff. However, you are incorrect in this case. What if I told you that there are more locking charms than there are unlocking charms? What could explain that? Anyone? How about you, Mr. Parkinson?”

“Uhh… Because more people make locking charms than unlocking charms?”

“Yes, why might that be?” When Heath could not respond, he continued. “One reason might be that most locking charms can be undone by the general unlocking charm, alohomora. You see, there are only so many ways you can hold something closed and though many spellcrafters like to think themselves clever, most end up retreading old ground.”

Theo raised his hand. “Isn’t it possible that people simply want a convenient solution that fits most problems?”

“Yes! Take a point to Slytherin. That is also another reason. I bring this up because I believe it speaks to the general outlook of wizards, or perhaps humans as a whole. For better or worse, we as individuals are primed to seek out what is comfortable, what is easy. To innovate is to go against the flow, and that can be a very uncomfortable feeling,” he said. His eyes swept across the room. He liked to do this a lot, drop little nuggets of wisdom and insight that went beyond charms.

He then had us pair up and work with a strongbox on each desk. One person would lock it, the other would unlock it. Apparently, this was because magic responded to intent, especially of the caster. A locking charm that I placed would always be easier to unravel for me than for others simply because it was my magic.

I worked with Heath. Other than his endless pining over Lyra, he was a surprisingly decent bloke to work with. He wasn’t anything more than a slightly above average student, but he was an unexpectedly focused person once we got to the practical exercises.

It made me wonder what kind of person Pansy was. Unlike Hermione, Harry, or Draco, I didn’t actually have a frame of reference for the fourth genderbent character in my little slice of reality.

I picked up both spells quickly and spent the rest of class coaching Heath through his own practice. When it was time to go, I waved him off and stood by to speak with Professor Flitwick.

The old professor glanced at me curiously. “Mr. Zabini, was there something I could help you with?”

“Yes, sir,” I said respectfully. “This isn’t about the class today. I’ve been doing some reading on my own and I am trying to create an index of divination-adjacent spells. I figured that detection charms would be a good place to start.”

“That sounds wonderful. I do love it when my students get productive. I can recommend a few charms for you of course. Homenum revelio is the quintessential charm when it comes to detecting other humans in the area,” he said with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

It took me a second but I understood his meaning. “Oh, no, professor. This has nothing to do with the twins, or anyone else trying to ambush me lately.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, purely for academic curiosity, you understand.”

“Of course, of course.”

“I’ve checked homenum revelio, but it seems as though the spell only detects biological humans in a given area. Is that right, sir?”

“That’s right. Funny you should mention that, ‘biological’ humans,” he said. He took a seat on a large book-pile. “One of the simplest ways to avoid the spell is in fact to be good at human transfiguration…”

“Or be an animagus,” I finished for him. “I admit recent events have made me… curious, professor.”

There wasn’t any point trying to hide my involvement in the Pettigrew affair from the heads of houses. I knew for a fact that they had regular staff meetings to discuss noteworthy students. And in all modesty, if I wasn’t one such student, those meetings must be dead silent indeed.

Even if, for some reason, Snape and Dumbledore hadn’t seen fit to tell the others the full truth, none of them were stupid. They could connect the dots on their own. I suspected that this was why McGonagall hadn’t seen fit to punish me for the quidditch thing despite her passionate love of the sport. It was a begrudging sort of respect, but respect nonetheless.

I wasn’t sure to what extent Flitwick knew the truth however. It could be that he was only aware that I was vaguely involved. Or he knew how I’d “accidentally” stumbled upon the truth of Ron’s unusually long-lived rat, the lie I’d fed Dumbledore. Or maybe he suspected a more deliberate plan on my part; he was certainly smart enough.

Regardless, he knew that I’d been the one to find Pettigrew. It was no wonder then that I wanted to learn how to detect animagi. 

He studied me with concern for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you would be curious. There is in fact a way to detect advanced minds rather than human biology. It is a tricky bit of wandwork, but not magically taxing in itself.”

“Minds, professor? How does the spell classify a mind as ‘advanced?’ Is it the capacity for language? Math skills? A complex social structure?” I asked. That sounded fascinating. “Does the spell perform a rudimentary legilimency ping? Is that even a thing?”

“Haha, I’ll write the spell down for you, along with a few titles of books that feature it. But I’ll not tell you the answers, Mr. Zabini. Come back next week if you wish to discuss the spell further and I’d be happy to fill in any gaps in your research.”

Seeing that I wouldn’t be getting anywhere today, I nodded respectfully. “Thank you, professor.”

“Yes, now be on your way. I believe you have transfiguration next.”

Author’s Note

It’s always been a little weird how popular quidditch seemed to be among wizards. Then again, maybe that’s because this sport is the equivalent of battling in pokemon. It’s not just a sport; it’s the sport, for better or worse.

Yes, the India/spice rack joke is from John Oliver. I think Corbin would be the kind of person who watches late night comedy shows like Oliver, Cobert, etc. whether he agrees with the politics or not. He’s definitely got a dry, British sense of humor.

You get two animal facts today. Bow down, for I am a most gracious spider.

Animal Fact #1: Humans are the only mammals that cannot lick our own noses. This is thought to be because as primitive man developed an increasingly complex communication system, aka language, he became increasingly less reliant on pheromones. So, the need to “reset” his nose was no longer a vital issue.

In fact, in 1964, anthropologist Dr. Des S. Foux found an uncontacted tribe in the Amazon who could all still lick their noses with their tongues. They claimed that having a cold was akin to being deafened because they lost the ability to fully communicate with their tribe, like hearing only half a conversation.

Animal Fact #2: In unrelated news, spiders are lying liars who lie.

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