Chapter 27: Social Butterfly

  Blaise Zabini

  Hogwarts, Great Britain

  “You wanted to see me, professor?” I asked rhetorically as the rest of my classmates filed out.

  “I did, Zabini,” he said coolly. He flicked his wand at the blackboard, causing the chalk to erase itself.

  Convenient, that, likely a modified cleaning charm. So far, I’d encountered at least four variants of the same charm, each possessing slightly different wand movements from the general use scourgify. From what I understood, there were arithmantic considerations influenced primarily by the material being cleaned, though the theory was one I wouldn’t learn about until third year.

  I wondered if Dumbledore knew his pet was interrogating me. I’d gone out of my way to imply a desire for secrecy after all. Maybe he thought he could pull the grandfatherly act and “apologize” on behalf of Snape if I confronted him, as if the good cop-bad cop angle wasn’t a tired cliche.

  Still, I’d seen this conversation coming. Not literally, via crystal ball, but I’d expected it. I represented an element they could not control in the castle, a wildcard with significant influence in the form of information. Naturally, they’d want to take my measure.

  That was fine. So long as my name was kept out of the papers and the rumor mill, I was willing to put up with this. Perhaps, I could even leave tonight with a piece of my own. Snape did have resources I lacked, after all.

  I strolled up to the table nearest the teacher’s desk and took a seat. “Well, what can I do for you, professor?”

  “Pettigrew.” One word. He studied me, waiting to see if I’d react. When I failed to give him his desired response, he scoffed. “You had something to do with his capture.”

  “I’m afraid that name is foreign to me, sir,” I responded, mostly to fuck with him.

  “Do not lie to me, boy. Why did you see fit to capture Pettigrew? How did you know to look at all?”

  I considered how to best answer.

  If I were actually fourteen, I’d probably be more abrasive, maybe even arrogant in my sense of superiority. I’d done something unambiguously great after all, and as a lowly first year.

  Even discounting Sirius being Violet’s godfather, I’d permanently reshaped the landscape of Magical Britain’s political elite. Assuming Dumbledore didn’t fumble the ball on purpose, my actions would lead to the release of Sirius Black, Lord Black, head of the wealthiest house in Magical Britain as well as one of the Wizengamot’s inherited seats. Hell, even the reveal that Pettigrew was alive would shake things up a bit by itself.

  A bit of arrogance would not be unreasonable. Any other teen might have even felt cocky enough to take offense at the way they were being dressed down by their head of house.

  Then again, I was not a child. I’d never tried to act my age before and I saw no reason for it now, especially considering how poorly Snape took to being pushed back. He was a bitter, acerbic man who took petty pleasure in bullying his students. Playing dumb beyond this wouldn’t get me anything.

  One must give to receive.

  “Very well, professor. I will tell you the truth,” I said. And I would, however edited it may be. “Were you aware I occasionally visit the chess club, professor?”

  “No. Your time is your own, Zabini. What does that have to do with Pettigrew?”

  “I am starting from the beginning, sir. You see, Weasley, Ronald, is a regular, and one of the few members who are in my year, so we play frequently. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but we once got to talking about our pets.

  “He was, of course, jealous that I had an owl as magnificent as Minerva and all he had was a rat. The more he talked about Scabbers though, the more curious I became. You see, he told me that the rat was a hand-me-down, a pet he received from his brother, the prefect.”

  “And that roused your suspicion somehow?”

  “Yes, sir. As I understand it, Percy Weasley had the rat for years, since before he entered Hogwarts. That seemed unusually long-lived for a rat, and I’d never heard of any magical species of rat before so I began to do some digging. At first, I was simply curious, thinking Scabbers to be what a kneazle is to cats.”

  It was all horse-shit, of course. But, if anyone asked Ron to verify my story, as I was certain someone else on staff would do, they’d find that I’d told the truth. This was a cover I’d been working on for months now, a reason for me to take an interest in Pettigrew beyond “Your entire universe is a storybook I read in another life.”

  Professor Snape studied me carefully. He was doing everything short of legilimency to determine my honesty. I suspected that if the easily verifiable details in my story didn’t add up, he’d be willing to risk detection.

  “You began researching magical rats and found that no species fit the description provided by Weasley.”

  “Yes, professor. At that point, it had turned from a minor curiosity to a game. I wanted to subtly question Weasley without having him catch on that his pet rat wasn’t normal. Maybe, if things went well, I could buy myself a useful familiar from someone who didn’t recognize its value.”

  “When did you begin to suspect the rat was an animagus?”

  “When I became frustrated and tried to scry the rat directly, sir,” I told him simply. Sure, I was a Slytherin who managed to conduct this little investigation without giving the game away to Ronald, but I was also a teenager with the expected attention span. Please believe me. “When I scried the rat in the present, I received nothing but Scabbers sleeping in his cage. However, when I tried to scry his past…”

  “You saw Pettigrew.”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t recognize him as Pettigrew at the time, but yes, I saw him.”

  “And you did not see fit to bring this to my attention,” he stated sharply. “I had thought you smarter than this, Zabini.”

  “Well, sir, at that point, I felt I was in too deep. I had no proof beyond my own visions, nor did I know he was a supposedly dead fugitive. Perhaps I’d gotten it wrong, merely scrying Scabbers’ last owner by accident. So, I wanted more evidence. I began to dedicate several nights to the man who I later learned was called Peter Pettigrew.

  “Imagine my surprise when I found an old article from the Daily Prophet about him, claiming he was dead. He was a martyr, they said, a man who died trying to save a dozen muggles from the homicidal maniac, Sirius Black.

  “You’ve likely deduced the rest, professor. I realized what I was dealing with was not a case of mistaken identity, but that he had faked his own death. Once I knew that, I learned quickly the reason why: Peter Pettigrew was the traitor, the man who sold Potter’s family out to the Dark Lord.”

  “You then realized you knew too much.”

  I nodded hesitantly, trying for the haunted look. I didn’t think I quite pulled it off, but the dim lighting in the dungeon certainly didn’t hurt.

  Here, my past manipulations came in handy once again. I “favored” Violet. Naturally, I would feel the need to act on her behalf. Yet, given my own family, I would have to do so in a way that did not directly implicate myself.

  “Yes, professor. The cascading implications were staggering. Lord Sirius Black was innocent. Or, maybe he did kill those twelve muggles, but he was not the one who’d betrayed his friends. Which would mean that he likely is not a Death Eater, and never was. Incidentally, I found out that Lord Black was Potter’s godfather.

  “I felt the need to act, but wasn’t sure how at first. I judged that I could not simply buy the rat from Weasley because a seer suddenly expressing interest in said rat might tip the animagus off.”

  “So you drugged the rat. How?”

  “I sent Weasley a gift, purportedly from a secret admirer. The rat tonic was laced with the draught of living death. After that, I acquired the rat and had him delivered to Professor Dumbledore via Potter’s owl. That way, if anyone asked, Professor Dumbledore could honestly say that Potter’s owl had delivered the rat to him. For obvious reasons, sir, I would very much like my name kept away from this case moving forward.”

  “Wise,” he hummed. He was no longer glaring daggers at me now.

  I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see a foolish boy with a crush? The “power of love” that Dumbledore harped on so much? Did he think I was so enchanted by Violet’s green eyes that I’d risk myself to this extent for her?

  Or did he see an opportunist? Whatever might be said of Violet and Sirius’ relationship, the fact remained: Lord Black now owed me a debt beyond calculation. It wasn’t a life debt in truth, Sirius wasn’t going to die in Azkaban as far as I was aware, but a debt existed. Lord Black was certainly a connection worth having for an ambitious little snake like me.

  “Yes, well, what will happen to Pettigrew and Lord Black now, sir?”

  “Professor Dumbledore took custody of Pettigrew and has approached the ministry. Beyond that, I do not know, nor is it your business. You cannot at once recuse yourself and demand information, Zabini.”

  “Fair enough, professor.” I paused, allowing myself to seem unsure. “P-Professor Snape.”

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  “Yes, Zabini?”

  “Have… Have I handled this well? I feel I have done all I could, yet I feel that I could have done better. Should I have trusted my own vision and stopped digging? Come to you as soon as I found the strange man in place of the rat? Would you have believed me? Or was I right to wait? To gather as much evidence as I could?”

  Snape wore a complicated expression as he let my questions fade into the silence. Finally, he admitted, “I would not have believed you. Divination is… It is not an art for those who lack certain innate gifts, gifts you have now clearly proven to possess.”

  “Then… In the future… If I have something to say, will you listen?” I asked hopefully. Prodded, really. One must give to receive. I’d given him the truth, and now, I was coaxing myself a pawn.

  “I will, at least, entertain the notion,” he said. It was like pulling teeth with him. Just the implication that he might, possibly take a student’s advice sounded like it physically pained him. “Is there anything else you’ve seen and may have overlooked?”

  “Nothing, sir. I prefer to stay out of trouble. Stumbling on Pettigrew was entirely an accident.”

  “Perhaps, or perhaps you might have grown curious about what lies in the third floor corridor.”

  “Respectfully, sir, hell no. Anything that Professor Dumbledore might consider dangerous is something I want nothing to do with. I can honestly say I have never seen inside the corridor,” I said. I already knew what was inside and wouldn’t try again to verify the presence of the philosopher’s stone until I knew how to bypass general wards against scrying.

  He studied me before nodding tersely. “Good. See that you don’t. Good sense will carry you far, Zabini.”

  “Thank you, professor. May I be excused?”

  “You may. I trust that you will not act alone again.”

  “I will come to you if there is something I cannot resolve alone,” I said, picking up my bag.

  He likely thought to take me under his influence. There might even be some desire to protect me as one of his students.

  In the future, there would no doubt come a day when I would need his help. He possessed freedom, resources, and personal power that I lacked. And though he was the last person I’d consider trustworthy, his buttons were easy enough to push and that made him a predictable asset. I felt reasonably sure of my ability to prod him in one direction or another.

  I wondered, which of us would truly end up using the other?

  X

  I strolled into the library one Friday afternoon. I offered Madam Pince a respectful nod. People gave her a lot of shit, but she wasn’t so bad so long as you remained quiet and put the books back where they were supposed to go.

  I was a fairly common sight here. Though I could study in my own suite or the Room of Requirement, there was something about the library that kept me coming back. I was a college librarian in my past life and I sure as shit didn’t choose that career path for the money.

  This time, I wasn’t here to enjoy the smell of books or find another biography about some long-dead explorer; there was a study group I promised to attend. With the Pettigrew situation handled for the moment, I had a bit of free time on my hands. I figured I could poke my head in and say hello.

  I found the group in the back of the public section, as far from Madam Pince as they could get so as to avoid her ire. It was a shame; most school libraries had enclosed rooms for group work that could be rented out. I wondered why Hogwarts didn’t have that.

  Unsurprisingly, I was the only Slytherin here, with the ravens taking up the bulk of the table. Padma was there, of course. She’d roped in her twin, and with her, Violet. From her house, I recognized Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and the token Chinese girl in our year, Su Li. Hufflepuff was represented by Zacharias Smith and Kevin Entwhistle, two boys I recognized from the little staredown in Hogsmeade two months ago.

  “Hello, everyone,” I greeted as Padma nudged Su to her side to make space for me. I wondered briefly if “Su” was her Chinese name or short for “Suzanne.” It could be either considering Chinese given names tended to have two characters.

  “Why are you here, Zabini?” Zacharias demanded.

  “Because I invited him,” Padma said quickly, forestalling an argument. “We’re working on the transfiguration assignment.”

  “Ah, which one?” I asked, caught a little flat-footed.

  “The essay on transfiguring different types of metals and why some are more magic-intensive than others.”

  “Oh, that one.”

  “That one? What else is there?” Kevin asked worriedly. “We’re not forgetting another assignment, are we?”

  “No, no, that’s on me. McGonagall wouldn’t double up on assignments like that.” I waved them off. I reached into my bookbag and pulled out my binder. “Here it is. I finished.”

  “She assigned it yesterday. How are you already done?”

  “Divination,” Violet answered dryly. “Zabini likes to do this stuff like a month in advance.”

  “A week at most,” I lied my little head off. I certainly wasn’t lacking practice; my third eye was getting sharper. “Any further than that and my vision gets foggy.”

  “So why are you here then?” Terry chimed in. He hadn’t actually started on his paper, but his parchment was a jumbled mess of ideas, books, and page numbers. Smart man, he was gathering references and making a quick outline before jumping straight in. The research librarian in me approved. “Like, no offense, but if you’re already done, why join the study group at all?”

  “Honestly? To socialize. I don’t get enough time to hang out with people outside my house and I’ve recently found myself with a bit of free time, that’s all.”

  “Huh, well, you’re going to be really bored then.”

  “No worries, I’ll just read and chime in occasionally.”

  So saying, I opened up my choice of reading for the week. Magic, Metals, and Magical Metals: A Thesis was a dry, dull read that almost made me regret picking it up from the library. Initially, I’d taken an interest because of the very transfiguration essay they were working on, but it proved to be rather advanced for me.

  It was a compendium of metallurgy as it applied to magic. It covered the properties of metals useful for everything from basic transfiguration to enchanting and alchemy. In that sense, it was more of a basic primer rather than an in-depth thesis on any one field, title aside.

  I gathered what notes I could from the book as the study group settled into a dull drone of conversation. Occasionally, I pulled my nose from between the pages long enough to direct them towards a more useful resource.

  As the evening wore on, so did their attention spans and soon, they began to talk about other matters.

  “So… Gryffindor versus Slytherin tomorrow,” Terry said, having put down his quill.

  “Not even a contest. We’ve got this,” Parvati snorted, shooting me a teasing smirk. “No offense, Zabini, but Vi’s got your seeker beat.”

  I set down my book for the moment and shrugged. “None taken. She does. She’s a better flyer than Higgs will ever be.”

  “You know, it’s hard to gloat when you just agree with me.”

  “Sorry, I just don’t care overmuch about quidditch.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get it either,” Kevin said. “I mean, gee golly, look how hard it is to sit all game. Wow. So much exercise. It must be absolutely brutal on your poor tushies.”

  “You shut up, Kevin,” Su said with a glare. The Chinese girl had been quiet until now, but apparently felt the need to defend her favorite sport. “Quidditch requires a lot more than just sitting around, like hand-eye coordination, balance, and core and upper body strength.”

  “Sure it does.”

  “It does!”

  “I’m agreeing with you.”

  “Why does your tone say otherwise?”

  “Must be hearing things.”

  I ignored the juvenile back and forth and dug back into my reading. What portions I could understand were fascinating.

  I wasn’t surprised to read that gold and silver were the two most magically potent of all mundane metals. One was the goal of every alchemist and the other was so intrinsically tied to the moon that this association had even bled over into muggle pop culture and astrology.

  What I was surprised to find was that there was such a thing as magical metals. Moonsilver, orichalcum, and fool’s gold featured prominently in the glossary. Fool’s gold here meaning a unique metal mined by the fae that was highly tuned towards illusion magics, not pyrite as muggles might know it. Apparently, the phrase “fool’s gold” had bled into muggle society with leprechauns tricking hapless muggles into confusing sacks of rocks for gold.

  “Zabini? Hello? Earth to Zabini?” Padma said, poking my cheek. I slowly turned and bit her fingertip, making her withdraw it at speed. “Yow! Why?”

  “Personal space, Patil. Respect it,” I drawled. “What did you need?”

  “Oh, Michael was asking about how Slytherin got a hundred points overnight. What’s with that?”

  “Not a clue. If I had to guess, I think one of the seventh years qualified for the international dueling circuit. It could be that.”

  “Obviously, it’s because Snape’s a right bastard,” Zacharias scoffed.

  I could see Violet getting ready to jump to my defense. It’d almost be touching if it wasn’t so fucking stupid. What part of “My involvement is a secret,” didn’t she understand?

  Or did she not think that if she admitted to knowing why the points were rewarded, they’d naturally conclude it was because I, the only Slytherin she was on friendly terms with, told her? Worst case scenario, they’d connect the dots between a seer, Violet’s prickly defense of my house, and the release of Sirius Black.

  I cleared my throat loudly before Violet could speak. At the same time, I reached across the table with my cane and jammed the cold, metal foot into her leg.

  She yelped at the sudden cold and shot me a glare.

  “Who the hell cares why?” I said with a haughty shrug. “All I know is that we’re winning.”

  “Yeah, because Snape’s cheating for you.”

  “Lies and slander. There’s no rule that says a professor can’t award or take away as many points as they please.”

  “Well what’s the bloody point then? The house cup means nothing!”

  “Gasp! Is that… character growth? Bravo, Smith, may you find worthier endeavors.”

  “Oh, sod off, ya wanker.”

  “Hey, any of you guys hear about the Omnissiah?” Padma asked, quickly changing the subject.

  Perfect. I could always rely on her to keep things from going too far. Although, her choice of conversation topic was a little unfortunate.

  I shook my head and said, “Can we not talk about that? I don’t even know what came over me.”

  “You had a vision of metal inferi.”

  “Servitors. They’re called servitors, humans grafted with machines using arcano-technology. This renders them incapable of disobeying commands. They do not tire and they do not eat. They’re much like inferi I guess.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “You want to know the worst thing?” I asked, staring at her with haunted eyes. “They’re still alive in there.”

  I soon left the conversation, claiming I didn’t know much else. Did I intend for this little prank to spiral down the rumor mill like this? No.

  Was I going to slowly drip-feed Hogwarts Warhammer lore until they either caught on or drove themselves up the wall with paranoia? Yes, yes I was.

  And they said I didn’t have a sense of humor.

  Author’s Note

  Did you know? Life debts are canon. Dumbledore tells Harry about them in The Prisoner of Azkaban. I found out about this in the course of writing and wow, I didn’t know this had more substance than shitty fanfiction.

  Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Pettigrew magically escapes Dumbledore’s custody? But nah, it’d be too ridiculous unless I was going for the “secretly evil” Dumbledore and I’m not.

  Animal Fact: Fable is getting tired of animal facts. This is a fact and he is an animal.

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