As We Fall (Blaise Zabini Fanfiction)

Chapter 7

Zoe

Astronomy is one of my favorite classes, even though I'm not exactly what you'd call "skilled" in it.

It reminds me of when my grandpa Abraham and I used to lay out on the sturdy roof of the loft at night when I was young, and I would pretend to see constellations, and he would pretend to be amazed.

Naturally, I've taken to drawing a picture of the stars for him. It's dark out, so I can't see the paper in front of my eyes very well, but I know he'll love anything that I send home. I haven't exchanged letters with my grandpa in awhile, and I miss him.

Our class is not large in number - just the Slytherin six years, so I'm not surprised when Professor Sinistra flips me upside the back with a scroll of parchment while making her rounds. Still, I give a startled jump.

Blaise's telescope is positioned next to mine, which was not my choice nor his. He glances over, his quill still lingering on his star chart.

"What's that?"

I try to hide my sketch with my hand.

"It's something I'm making for someone back home." I leave it at that, because I know if I reveal any more information, I will be subject to one of his many insults.

Blaise lifts his head, tries to peek over my raised hand, but the natural curve of the astronomy tower makes it hard.

Finally, he settles with an uninterested "hmph" and returns to his star chart.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding in. Thankfully, he's decided to leave me alone for tonight.

"Alright, students, good work tonight." Professor Sinistra calls out, addressing the entire class. "Class dismissed."

Light chatter swims about the open air as students fold up their telescopes and hand in their daily star charts. I realize that I have nothing to turn in, and think about how disappointed Abraham would be. This makes my heart sink, heavy as an anchor.

As I'm making my way towards the door, I feel a hand clap down on my shoulder.

"Fletcher."

The cold and all-too-familiar voice rings out from behind me. Slowly, I turn around.

"Do you-" Blaise won't meet my eyes, and he's hesitating, "-do you have a boyfriend at home?"

My face screws up in confusion. Why's he asking me this?

"No." My voice sounds bitter. "What made you ask me th-"

"Because you said you were making that drawing for some - fuck it, nevermind." Blaise says, clearly aggravated. "We need to figure out the tutoring schedule."

I'm still baffled, but I decide to let his strange and impulsive question slide.

"Well, when are you free?" I ask. "For tutoring."

Blaise takes his lower lip in between his teeth, thinking. The sugary spread of stars above us glows merrily.

"I can only do nights." He says. "How about we start tomorrow at nine in the library, and go from there?"

I nod in placid agreement, but then something dawns upon me. "Wait, what about the curfew?"

He sighs in exasperation, looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth. "We can get a note from Slughorn."

I let out an exhausted huff of my own. Why must he be so incredibly rude to me? I don't bother to ask again, knowing fully well that I'd get the extra bitter silent treatment from him for another week again.

Without bidding me goodnight, Blaise flits around me and back towards the door of the astronomy tower.

I sigh.

"Sweet dreams, asshole."

***

The following night, I find myself perched in the owlery, writing a letter home to my grandpa. Attached to it is the drawing of the night sky I'd finished in astronomy last night.

I finish stringing my letter to the service owl's leg. It's a dwarfy thing - restless and runt-like, patches of hickory feathers still clinging on here and there. With a bit of kibble, I coax the bird out of the window, and watch it as it soars off. An image of a joyful Abraham unrolling my scroll when it arrives in Copenhagen swims through my mind, and the corners of my mouth twitch upwards - but only momentarily.

In just a few minutes, I have my first lesson with Blaise. The idea of him teaching me anything repulses me, but I suppose I don't really have a choice in the matter.

I can picture him now, getting frustrated with me and running a hand over his head like he does when he's short-tempered (have I really picked up on this idiosyncrasy?). Calling me dumb or something of a similar caliber.

As I begrudgingly carry myself from the owlery to the library, I try to think of the tutoring sessions as something I'm doing for Abraham. He worked for years to get me to Hogwarts, and if I'm going to try for anyone, it may as well be him.

Either way, I'm not looking forward to seeing Blaise tonight.