A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Six

Mr. Zabini,

I wanted to assure you once more that you are in safe hands. I have taken additional precautions given you current situation with your standing, as well as Mr. Malfoy's. You are both perfectly safe within the castle walls, so I strongly encourage both of you to advise a teacher or your Head of House whenever you will be taking a leave, especially with the Holidays fast approaching.

I know how much this means to you, being able to return to Hogwarts to finish your studies. Believe me when I say that your and Draco's safety is something I take personally. Let me know if anything isn't to you liking, whether it be your accommodations or your classes.

I do not expect a reply. I do, however, expect you to pass on my best wishes to Mr. Malfoy, since I was informed he is now back in the dormitories.

Best wishes,
Headmistress McGonagall

Blaise sighs and folds the parchment again, fits it back into the envelope it came in. The delivery owl hoots annoyingly and Blaise purses his lips, pets him anyway before it flies off into the corridor.

He turns in his chair to spot his best friend curled up in his old duvet, the silver tassels from the bed curtains glinting in the candlelight.

Draco is still fast asleep. He hasn't awoken fully, only a mumble here and there when he was being transported from the Infirmary.

"He needs to be in a familiar space when he wakes," Madame Pomfrey had said. "His magic is all over the place, and if he wakes up here, disoriented, he'll bring the roof down along with all of us."

Their old dorm was the first thing Blaise thought of.

The new dorm set up especially for the returning eighth years didn't feel as welcoming. Of course, the Slytherins were still clustered together, like the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. Each house has their own wing in the South Tower, close to the Quidditch Pitch. But since it's only Blaise, Draco, and another two Slytherins whom he doesn't really know, the wing gets sort of...lonely.

And cold.

Merlin, Blaise can't remember the last time he felt warm. Nowadays, it was always the shadows that follow him everywhere. He feels like he's begun to make a habit of looking over his shoulder.

Here, in the dungeons, the cold does not exist. It's moist from it being an underground cavern, but the moisture makes it warm. Yes, it is definitely dark, but Blaise knows these dungeons like the back of his hand. He knows exactly which corridor he's in and how far his echo will travel. He knows how wide they are and how many doors there are.

And it's not so lonely down here. There are many first year Slytherins who don't even know who he is and want to talk to him all the time. Blaise might be bluffing when he says he'll hex them if they bother him but he knows he's fond of them, the way they're too clever for their age and remind him of a younger version of himself. And the background noise. There is always someone bustling past the door, and there is always very courteous excuse me's in the hallway because the hallways aren't that wide.

Snakes, after all, aren't wide at all. Blaise snorts to himself.

This, Blaise thinks as he sees Draco sigh and roll over comfortably, oh, this is home.