SOULLESS ° BLAISE ZABINI

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THERE WERE NOT MANY who could say that they liked Blaise Zabini, not even those who he was supposed to share traits with, his fellow Slytherins. The people who did only did so out of necessity, if they were somehow connected to him and were obliged to care for him. But there were not many of those people, the main one in Blaise's life his mother, a small, skinny and altogether beautiful woman who doted on her only son.

He was dark haired and dark skinned, with black eyes which penetrated the people he looked at in such a disconcerting way that others stayed away from him. He had a aloofness that made others turn up their noses behind his back, and aloofness that was often misinterpreted as vanity. In fact, Blaine Zabini found it highly amusing when people talked of his pride, unknowing of the darkness that writhed inside his chest like an angry beast.

There were none who could say that they truly knew Blaise Zabini. His mother often claimed to, but even she would never be able to fathom the bottomless pit of night and wrath and evil lurking in the dregs of his soul. Her easy smiles and close watch over him could not grant her the ability to see inside him, and despite the fact that she controlled almost every element of his life, he was not close to her; he did not love her as love should be between a mother and her son. Even her love for him was too paraded, too pointed, too suffocating to be real motherly affection.

Not even the Storting Hat could understand the strange twisted mess of his mind, for it's sure certainty suddenly turned to confusion when it sensed the swirling abyss of evil that hosted him. A house that it would have chosen died on its lips, then another, darker house was plucked. A house for the ambitious, a house for the monster inside whose only ambition was to control him entirely.

Even the famously cruel Draco Malloy could not relate to his dark nature. The boy looked weak beside him, puny and complaining, so he simply chose to ignore him. They were on speaking terms, a shaky alliance threatening to shatter any minute. Draco possessed power in the form of his father, but even that snake of a man could not infiltrate the power and fear of Hogwarts, and so Blaise held the upper hand when it came to arguments and conflicts. A wry smile could often be seen upon his lips as he bested Malfoy in a verbal argument, or a flicker of amusement in his black eyes.

So Blaise swept through his years at Hogwarts with easy superiority, friends picked up, examined and discarded again. He wandered the corridors in solitude, not bothering to speak to the students who flinched under his gaze or whispered of his self adoration behind his back.

But sometimes he wondered about the ifs in life. What if...? If he had not been made so dark. If he could know happiness and friendship and love that the others were granted. And then he would crumble those thoughts into dust and brush them away to the corners of his mind.

---

The compartment was empty, and the few students who glanced into to it hurried on when they saw him sitting there. His piercing eyes bore holes in their souls, dragged up dark memories that they would rather forget, so they avoided him, making up cruel tales to hide their fear. Blaise did not mind - solitude was preferable in any circumstance, as it would be for the rest of his life. He drummed his fingers on his leg and stared out of the window at the flickering countryside cloaked by the rain, glimpses of rolling hill before the grey clouds descended. Rain drops slithered down the window, much like the snakes of his house. Smirking, Blaise looked away, his eyes meeting that of a frightened first year.

"Sorry," he blurted, scrambling back. "I thought it was empty..."

"Am I that difficult to see?" Blaise asked, staring at the chubby boy. "Don't go making up excuses. Would you like to sit here?" He voice seemed neutral, maybe even pleasant, but his face said otherwise as his mouth curved into a sneer and his eyes glittered.

"No - I mean -"

"What did you mean? I'm sorry, I just can't understand why you'd think this carriage was empty when I'm clearly sitting here." The first year let out a frightened squeak and backed out of the carriage before being swallowed by the students moving along the corridors.

The journey was long and tedious, the smooth chugging of the train only serving to count the seconds he had to spend on it. He was tired, but his eyes never once closed for moe than a second; he stared straight ahead, too tense, too emotionless to seem like another ordinary student.

"Quibbler?" asked a quiet voice. Blaise turned his head and found himself looking at a short, slightly plump girl with long dirty blonde hair clutching a stack of brightly coloured magazines. She had an air of absence, her mind didn't seem truly focused on the conversation, and she did not look at him, glancing around the carriage as if it held more interest.

"No." Blaise didn't look away from her, and slowly, despite her difference, her eyes, like everyone else's, moved to his. They widened, and for the first time, Luna Lovegood looked shocked, perhaps even a little afraid, at what dark memory clouded her mind. She blinked, and moved away.

Something hurt in Blaise's chest, something like guilt, but the dark chocked it until it died, ashes in the storm inside him.

Then it went still, brooding,

---

The castle was powerfully built, menacing to the few who didn't know it as a home. Yellow lights spilled out each of its windows, and the turrets stood like flickering beacons in the darkness. Below, black waters glittered, adorned with the light of the moon. First years gasped at the splendour, but Blaise only glanced towards it before trudging towards the carriages. He had seen it all before.

The horseless carriages rattle over stones and other sticks littering the path. Blaise was joined by a few other Slytherins, who threw him a nod of neutrality and began to talk amongst themselves.

"The dark lord is back. My father says so."

"But the newspapers -"

"Who wouldn't want to cover up that their greatest enemy has returned? My father is a Death Eater -"

"I wouldn't speak that term so loud, if I were you," Blaise interrupted, smirking. "It might slip, and then someone would...hear."

"You wouldn't tell, Blaise, you wouldn't dare." Blaise shrugged and fell out of the conversation, but the others did not resume speaking, the threat of reveal too much to risk. No one could really understand whether Blaise Zabini would betray his house or not.

Their cloaks were slick with rain by the time they reached the castle, fat drops running over their hair and down their shoulders. Inside the Great Hall it was warm and dry, comfortingly lit with candles, welcoming despite the grey and rainy sky the ceiling depicted. Blaise sat at the end of the Slytherin table, as far from Dumbledore as he could get, head lowered and not making eye contact with anyone. Draco Malfoy was talking loudly, boasting of Dark Lords and power. Blaise snorted at this boy who talked of darkness, when really, he knew nothing of it. He had a choice.

First years filed into the hall, led, as usual, by the stern faced Professor McGonagall who clutched a scroll of parchment in her withered hands. Her hair was scraped back in a black knot, her lips drawn into a line. Her voice was tighter than usual when she began to call out names and placed the Sorting Hat on the heads of short students.

In fact, an air of fear and taut tempers hung over the whole school.

Blaise closed his eyes, blocking out the voices.