Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 34: A New Year Begins

3 January 1993
The Hogwarts Express

Blaise Zabini sat alone in his compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express reading a book while occasionally reaching into a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans and hoping he didn't pull out one that tasted of earwax. Harry and Neville were returning to Hogwarts via Floo, while Theo had remained there for Christmas. So among the Hogwarts Second Years who he actually considered friends, that left only...

"Ah Blaise!" said Hermione brightly as she stepped into the compartment with a flourish. "Here you are. I've been looking for ages."

"No you haven't," he replied without looking up from his book. "We left the station less than five minutes ago."

"Well, it felt like ages." She crooked her head to study the cover of Blaise's book. "Hmm. Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett. You do realize that that's a Muggle fantasy novel and not a primer on Wizengamot etiquette, right?"

He glanced up and favored the girl with what she might have considered a sneer if she hadn't understood the affection behind it. "Naturally, Hermione. The fact that I got it from Barnes & Noble in Manhattan was my first clue. What? Can't a wizard show appreciation for a good Muggle book?"

"Not as a rule, no, though I'm please to see you are an exception." With that, she turned her back on him and erected a privacy charm.

"Really, Hermione? You're afraid that some Pureblood book critic will find out that I'm reading Terry Pratchett and cause problems? Surely Pureblood bigotry isn't that bad!"

She ignored Blaise's humor and sat down opposite him. "I want to talk about Harry's Parseltongue."

He snorted softly. "I think you mean Jim's Parseltongue. Harry doesn't talk to snakes, Hermione, he just wears them as insignia like the rest of our House."

"See, what's interesting, Blaise, is that your immediate response to a simple vague statement like 'I want to talk about Harry's Parseltongue' is a categorical denial rather than just saying 'whatever do you mean, Hermione?' You know, the way someone would respond if they had no idea that Harry was a Parselmouth. Very suggestive, that." Blaise frowned at her, but she continued before he could say anything. "But anyway, that's not important now. Whether Harry is a Parselmouth or not, he would never feel comfortable talking with me in part because he knows I'm not an Occlumens and anything he tells me might be gotten out of me with Legilimency. So, my font of all knowledge about Slytherin secret keeping, how do I become an Occlumens?"

He frowned even more deeply and set the latest book about Granny Weatherwax aside. "Hermione, becoming an Occlumens is potentially very dangerous. Harry and Jim are both trying to learn it because they've both learned secrets they shouldn't have and don't want to be memory-wiped. Your ... suspicions about Harry being a Parselmouth – which probably half the school shares whether he is or not – are not a good reason for you to rewire your brain!"

"Really, Blaise? And what secrets did you have at the age of eight that led you to do that very thing?"

"Obviously," he said through gritted teeth, "I can't tell you because they're personal enough to protect with Occlumency."

"Of course not. Because I'm not an Occlumens and you couldn't trust me to keep your secrets."

"No, because they're personal!"

"All of them, Blaise? You don't have any secrets you would be willing to share with me if you knew my mind was protected?" He didn't answer. "Anyway, I've already had one Dark Lord rifling through my brain and I don't wish to repeat the experience whether I hold any of your or Harry's secrets or not. I do have my own secrets, you know."