Troll: 31. Polliwag is my favorite pokemon.

Chapter 31: Poliwag is my favorite pokemon.

Blaise Zabini
Hogwarts, Great Britain

The rest of the day was as awkward as last night’s dinner. If there was any question that I was now the leader of the first years, it was only because Lord Lucius Malfoy would never accept his daughter playing second fiddle to anyone else. Even then, both my yearmates and seniors eyed me in a new light now.

Theo found me soon after, a bag of galleons in hand. Judging by the hefty weight, he didn’t take his twenty-eight percent cut of my winnings. It told me just how much of an impression I’d left on the boy. I gave him his cut anyway; I couldn’t have people thinking I was a bully.

“Hell of a duel, Zabini,” I heard. I was in the courtyard, having used my make-up lessons with Professor Sinistra to excuse myself and let the dust settle.

I turned to find Evan Yaxley, my fifth year prefect. “Thank you. I think I did alright.”

“You did. The question is, was Higgs really worth the trouble?”

“It wasn’t about Higgs. I can’t have people thinking a deal with me is something they can ignore.”

“I get that, but you beat him bloody, like a muggle.”

“And? It always comes back to divination with me, doesn’t it? I needed to show that I need nothing else to be dangerous.”

“Just the flame-freezing charm and a big stick.”

“Yup.”

“Congratulations, I suppose. People certainly won’t take you lightly again. At least, no one third year and below,” he said with a dark chuckle.

“Thanks.” I’d succeeded, but felt somewhat empty. Slytherin was not a house in which friendships were formed. I’d known that going in, of course, but I’d never felt it so deeply as I did now. “Did you come here just to congratulate me for bullying children?”

“‘Bullying children,’ he says,” Yaxley snorted. “You’re one of those children, oh-so-wise seer.”

“It sometimes doesn’t feel that way.”

“How pissed are you, really? About Higgs ruining your plans. That’s what you said. Was that just an excuse to send a message? Or did you really have something in the works?”

“I did. Higgs burnt a lot of bridges for me. Not irreparably, but the damage isn’t small,” I admitted, “and yes, I’m very upset about that. Maybe I was a bit harsher on him than I should have been because of it.”

“You were. You want my advice, Zabini? From one, slightly older snake to another?”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

He held out a finger, like a teacher shushing an unruly kindergartener. “Mind, I didn’t say, ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ I said, ‘Don’t do it again.’ I think you did the right thing, this time.”

“You’re saying that if I keep acting like this, I’ll develop a reputation for someone who can’t compromise, which is basically the same as saying I’m someone who can’t be negotiated with.”

“Exactly. Some steel is good, but not so much that people start wondering if you’re human. Besides, remember what I said about the dueling pit? It’s not good to be seen as someone who’s only capable of settling his differences with his wand. Or cane.”

“All fair points. Thanks, Yaxley.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Zabini. You’re a useful sort.” So saying, he headed back into the castle.

It was wild. How sad was it that that was the single most sincere compliment I’d received from someone in Slytherin? I found myself feeling rather melancholy despite the sincerity. Maybe that wasn’t his intention, but I felt a little jealous of the Hufflepuffs at the moment.

X

I took a seat next to Padma in herbology. It was our first class of the day on Mondays. I counted myself fortunate for that; Professor Sprout was a kindly, understanding professor who didn’t call me out for my utter ineptitude in her subject.

Today’s lesson was especially welcome because the plants we were working with were entirely mundane. It wasn’t as though everything in the greenhouses was out to get me; sometimes, potions required a bit of myrtle or poison ivy. A touch of the muggle could contrast with and bring out their magical effects.

My peers found these days to be tedious, but I thought they were lovely. Muggle plants didn’t react with ambient magic, or the magic wafted from my person. I got to feel useful for something besides scooping one pot of soil into a slightly cleaner pot.

“You’re not a very popular person right now, Zabini,” Padma said softly. “Some of my friends said I shouldn’t sit with you anymore.”

I nodded. I’d thought as much. “And yet, here you are. Let me guess. Boot, Goldstein, and… You know, I can’t imagine Corner cares too much about quidditch.”

“Isobel. Her cousin is the manager for the Holyhead Harpies.”

“Who?”

“MacDougal.”

“Ah, I’ll pretend I recognize her.”

“So?” she asked expectantly.

“So?” I replied back. I worked carefully to trim the leaves of my myrtle plant. I didn’t have many chances to do the practicals right and I wanted to show Professor Sprout that I’d at least been paying attention. “You’re going to have to voice the question, Patil. Or give me permission to practice legilimency on you.”

“Not a chance. Did you do it?”

“You have no idea how little that narrows things down. I’ve been very busy.”

“Quidditch. Did you cheat for your team? I heard from Isobel, who heard from Katie Bell, who said Flint was bragging about you.”

“Would it matter? People seem to have come to their own conclusions,” I said with a rueful smile. “That’s the trouble with being a seer, eh? Everything is my fault.”

“It matters to me,” she said. “I don’t want my friends to hate my other friend.”

I winced. It was true that quidditch had zero relevance, but I’d clearly underestimated what a dominant force it was for the students here. Even if I didn’t care, the ones close to me certainly did. “Then no, I did not cheat as there is no rule against advice, provided that I do not interfere with the game directly.”

“That–You know, people call that cheating.”

“How is finding a loophole cheating? Is it cheating for Potter’s broom to be better than anyone else’s? For her to be on the team at all as a first year? Or for Hufflepuff to retain the largest number of older students on their house team this year?”

“Well…”

“Patil,” I said gently. “People are upset with me. I get that. I’ve accepted this as the cost of doing business. Quidditch is a game, something with no broader impact beyond house pride. Selling information about it hurts no one.”

“You didn’t see the way people were talking. Some of those guys are furious. You might want to make yourself scarce for a bit.”

“Ugh, that’s what I get for trusting Higgs to keep his mouth shut.”

“Higgs? Not Flint?”

“You think I’d willingly make a deal with that moron? Higgs is the seeker, and so the one who most benefits from my information. He bragged to Flint, who bragged to everyone else.”

She side-eyed me reproachfully. “So don’t regret what you did, just that you got caught.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re impossible.”

I smiled gently at her. “If nothing else, I appreciate you worrying about me.”

“But you’ll do it again,” she replied with a resigned sigh.

“If I’m provided the right incentive.”

“You’re such a headache.”

“Love you too, Patil.”

X

School continued. Life went on. Professor McGonagall was too professional to punish me overtly, but she was in the foulest mood I’d ever seen her. In transfiguration, she looked for every way possible to deduct points from me and practically ignored all other students in favor of making her displeasure known.

Personally, I thought she was more upset over this nonsense than the time I drugged her with catnip. Padma, again my partner, gave me the “You know what you did,” look all throughout class.

On the plus side, Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, and Quirrell didn’t give a damn about quidditch drama. They went about their day without acting like I’d somehow murdered the spirit of Hogwarts. It was refreshing.

That evening, Daphne nudged me aside after dinner. She and her cousin ushered me to an out of the way table in the common room before sliding a mail order catalog for my perusal. On it were rows and rows of jewelry, each more ornate than the last.

“‘Dazzling Diamonds and More…’ Why are you showing me a jewelry catalog, Greengrass?” I asked. I wanted to retire to my suite, if only so I could start preparing for things that actually mattered.

“The ministry gala, will you be attending?” She began to flip through the parchment pages, using a self-inking quill to circle a few necklaces.

I had to think about it for a moment before I remembered what she was talking about. The ministry, like any governing body, liked to keep the elites of society happy. They were, after all, the ones who held the keys to power.

As such, the minister’s office set aside a not insignificant chunk of galleons for “ceremonial purposes.” One such purpose was the winter gala, an event which probably started as a way for wizards to usher in the new year, but was now primarily used as a giant networking opportunity. Daphne, being the heiress of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, was expected to attend.

For that matter, old-Blaise had likewise attended in the past. My memories of these galas were not fond ones. Mother, the black widow that she was, loved to attend on the arm of whichever poor schmuck she’d charmed. She seemed to enjoy testing just how little fabric she could get away with wearing. Old-Blaise had to be the poor bastard related to her.

“I suspect I will have to,” I told her with a tired smile. It was one of those social obligations I could not avoid. Dumbledore managed it, but only by being both insane and too powerful to criticize for such trivialities. I couldn’t wait until I had that kind of reputation. “Who is hosting, do you know?”

“Dowager Longbottom will be hosting this year,” she informed me.

“I see. Good for her, I suppose.”

If I remembered right, the Malfoys played host the year prior. Though the master of ceremonies remained the minister of magic, no way Fudge would ever give up being the center of attention, the venue often traded hands between prominent members of the Wizengamot. It wouldn’t do to host it in the ministry atrium, after all.

It was both a way to cut costs for the ministry, and a chance for certain members of society to show off just how opulent their lifestyles were. It was kind of like how the Olympic Games switched hosts, but without the feelgood pandering to multiculturalism.

Daphne tapped at the catalog. “Yes, and there is less than two months to go before the gala. Many are preparing for it now. You don’t intend to wear last year’s dress robes, do you?”

“Mother takes care of such things,” I said shamelessly. It was true. Before, it was because old-Blaise was too terrified to get in her way. Now, I wasn’t sure I was willing to allow myself to be bothered. If there was one thing I could be sure of, it was Valencia Zabini’s taste in fashion. “What? Did you expect me to ooh and aah over accessories with you?”

“Hmph, men,” she said, a condemnation against all born unfortunate enough to share my gender. “In any case, I am interested in these necklaces and wish to know if any of these will be worn by anyone else at the gala.”

“Of course, because how dare anyone wear the same thing as you.”

“Exactly. It would be a disaster.”

“You realize that–”

“--was sarcasm, yes. I don’t care. Do you want my business or not?”

I sighed and got out my crystal ball. I supposed I should have expected this. What else was a pureblood princess going to ask me? “Very well. And what do you offer in exchange? The price of one necklace, perhaps?”

“Don’t make me laugh. The catalog might be new, but the jeweler has been in the business since before the French Revolution. These each cost nearly a thousand galleons at minimum. I was thinking about giving you another potion, from the Hogwarts curriculum of course.”

“Hmm, fair enough. I don’t have a specific potion I want at the moment though.”

“I’ll provide whichever potion you name in a magically inert, quartz vial, stasis charm included.”

“We could just say you owe me a bottle.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Unacceptable. That’s far too vague. How big is that bottle? How many days do I have to acquire the potion for you? What will be the penalties associated should I fail to deliver on time?”

“A bottle is one dose of the potion. The size of the container obviously varies depending on which potion we’re talking about.”

“One dose for you? Or for a giant? For that matter, I must insist that ‘Hogwarts curriculum’ means the curriculum which exists today, not any potion which has ever been on the curriculum in the millennium of the school’s history.”

I groaned. I had a feeling I knew what was happening here. “I’m receiving the fairy treatment.”

“You are. I am prepared to sign a legally binding document prepared by my family barrister,” she said primly. Now that I was looking, I could see Tracey fidget nervously behind Daphne. “We shall write a draft tonight and receive the legalese version tomorrow night via owl. To be clear, my owl.”

“Is this because of the Higgs thing?”

“It’s because of the Higgs thing,” Tracey confirmed for her cousin. “We’re not giving you any chances to turn Daphne into another one of your examples.”

“We will outline specific paths you may use to seek remuneration should I fail to deliver within contract parameters,” Daphne confirmed.

I should have expected this, honestly. Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair in annoyance. “Really? Do you honestly think I’d beat the shit out of you, Greengrass? If nothing else, your lord father would have my hide.”

“Perhaps nothing so uncouth, but I am aware that a seer of your talents could have done far worse to Higgs even without laying a finger on him. I suspect the duel was a spur of the moment decision to fuel your male ego, or perhaps the most direct way to send the message that you should not be crossed.”

“You’re thinking way too hard about this, Greengrass. Look, I may have been a little harsh on Higgs, but that was because I expected him to abide by the only thing I asked of him, to keep damn his mouth shut. You’ve done that well enough. You don’t have anything to fear from me.”

“Be that as it may, I would prefer we lay our terms out clearly.”

“Okay, how about this then? Your family imports reagents as well as potions, right?”

“We do,” she said cautiously. “Some reagents are even more expensive than most potions.”

“Elephant tusks. I want four elephant tusks, harvested from four different elephants. That’s a must, by the way. The elephants don’t need to be killed, in fact I’d prefer they be relocated to a nice sanctuary somewhere, but the tusks must come from four distinct individuals who have lived to maturity. Can you do that?”

“Not erumpent? Elephants? As in the muggle animal?”

“Yes, Greengrass. The ones that use their prehensile penises as flyswatters.”

Her nose scrunched in disgust as blood flowed to her cheeks. “That’s absurd. You’re lying to me.”

“I am not. Did you know elephants defecate about twelve to fifteen times per day?”

“I-What?”

“Yes, it’s quite fascinating. In terms of total weight, that’s a maximum of two hundred fifty pounds of feces. That’s roughly twice your body weight in shit. You could, theoretically, sculpt two whole Daphne Greengrasses out of an elephant’s daily shit-quota.”

Her face curled in disgust, as if she could physically smell the elephant shit now. “Why do you know that?”

“I am a seer. To be a seer is to be cursed with forbidden knowledge,” I intoned sagely. Well, really, I was a college librarian with too much time on my hands. I’d found the two to be quite similar as of late. “For example, did you know that tarantulas, the largest variety of muggle spider, are able to fire their hairs like arrows? What if we crossbred acromantulas with them?”

She shook her head, as if that’d banish the unwanted trivia from her mind. “No. I don’t care. You are a horrible person and why the memory charm exists. When do you need the elephant tusks by?”

“I need them in my hands by the last day of the semester,” I said, more professionally now. It wouldn’t do to freak her out too much.

“That’s doable. It’s an odd request, but I shouldn’t have any trouble with this. I’ll have the contract written up.”

“Good, now let me tell you about your jewelry.”

X

I sat at the breakfast table with a satisfied smile on my face. A quiche, a bowl of fruit, and cinnamon-sugar oatmeal covered my breakfast. The deal with Daphne was quick, and had covered the most important ingredient in my coming ritual.

According to astronomy, I could expect the winter solstice, and therefore the longest night of the year, to be on the twenty-second of December, a single day after the holidays. The twenty-third was the full moon. With night being the “time of mysteries” and the full moon being the “illuminator” of said mysteries, I couldn’t ask for a better time to perform a divination ritual than the twenty-third.

I still required frankincense and myrrh, but those were far easier to acquire than tusks from four separate elephants. After that, all I’d need to do was to find an appropriate location, the closer to the Hogwarts ley lines, the better. If it meant I’d need to sneak into the castle from the Shrieking Shack, then so be it.

Then, I heard the telltale BWAP of my glorious owl. I looked up, just in time to see her clap some poor bird across the face and steal its copy of the morning paper. She glided down and offered me the morning paper with a prim, “Praise me!” look on her smug, feathery face.

“A brute, just like her owner,” Lyra said snidely.

I took the paper and offered Minerva her daily bacon. “I can’t even deny that anymore. Stop stealing other people’s mail, Minerva.”

“Bwap,” she replied unrepentantly.

“Or do it away from the Hogwarts wards.”

“Bwap.”

“Yeah, it’s important not to get caught.”

“Wonderful lessons you’re teaching your owl there, Zabini,” Tracey snarked. “Have you considered using your owl to mail bombs to your enemies?”

“Don’t be silly, Davis. Bombs are finicky. Now, if you really want to mess with someone, you should send them anthrax. Actually, don’t. Or if you do, do it before September eleventh, two thousand and one. You wouldn’t want to be called a copycat, right?”

“That was… oddly specific advice there.”

“You know, I might have to do something about that. Ugh, one more thing to keep in mind. Being a seer is suffering.”

“Right…”

My classmates thoroughly weirded out, I turned to the daily paper. Minerva was kind enough to get it for me so I figured I may as well give it a quick perusal before passing it along to its rightful owner. Immediately, the headline caught my eye:

Landmark Trial to Come: Will this new year mean a new chapter in Lord Black’s life?

The trials of Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black had been set, somewhat poetically, for January first. Because of the way their stories were intertwined, both men would be going on trial back-to-back.

They would receive a dose of veritaserum simultaneously, so that the Wizengamot could compare their testimonies side to side. If there were any discrepancies, there would likely be further trials in the future. If not, I suspected Pettigrew would be getting the dementor’s kiss then and there. Wizards liked to drag their feet, but once a sentence was passed, it tended to get carried out swiftly.

Either way, I knew for certain that the only crime Sirius committed was being an unregistered animagus. With the time he’d already spent in Azkaban, he’d go free and Magical Britain’s political landscape would never be the same again. Well, eventually. He’d need to go see a mind healer first.

Now that the date of the trial was set, I assumed people would start bugging Violet about her opinion on things, never mind that she’d never met either of these people. Naturally, that meant Rita Skeeter would make her way to Hogwarts to make a nuisance of herself.

If the quidditch incident taught me anything, it was that perception mattered, even when I personally didn’t give a damn. I glanced briefly at Violet, then Lyra.

I had plans for them both, but Skeeter was likely to present complications. I’d just have to deal with her before I began my work.

Author’s Note

Remember, he wants to use ritual magic to scry the philosopher’s stone. If it’s fake, as some fanon suggests, then he can ignore the entire Quirrell issue. If it’s real, then he might have problems.

What Blaise is talking about is a series of letters containing anthrax spores sent to media and congressional offices within a week of the 9/11 bombings. We talk a lot about the Twin Towers, but the public forgets that there was a biochemical attack made against the US Congress as well.

Animal Fact: You’re a greedy fuck for expecting another animal fact. This is, strictly speaking, an animal fact.