BLAISE ZABINI: 17 June, 1997
Handed over to Draco after Potions class, silently, and with a serious look.
Dear Draco,
I don't
I'm going to stop pretending that you're not mad. You are, you know. Quite insane. Runs in the family, no doubt, although with you particular mix of utterly batshit relatives it would be difficult to point out where exactly yours comes from. In addition, you've been fucked by over by your father and his friends in so many ways that I can't even begin to explain it, let alone know how to undo the damage.
Anyway. I need to stop pretending that you're not mad.
The thing is, though, that I can't not care about you. There's a good chance your involvement with the dark Lord will get me killed; it's fairly certain it will get you killed. Having any sort of relations with you is foolish to the point of Hufflepuffness. My cousin Beppo (and don’t start pouting, you know I'm not shagging him anymore - it seems only you will do these days) is laughing at me because I'm supposed to know better than that. You're not intellectual, or knowledgeable, or mature; you are, in fact, none of the things I find attractive in people, and many things that I find disturbing. You can't take care of yourself, and you attach yourself to other people like a child in the hopes that they will. You let yourself be used in most horrific ways, and you refuse to admit it. You are unabashedly needy for attention, but have little scruples, it seems, in using Unforgivables on anybody. I should not care about you. I should not even tolerate you.
But, since it seems that I must love you nevertheless, here's what we're going to do. You are not going to get yourself killed. You're not going to allow yourself be used by Death Eaters, because they are going to lose this war, and then I would lose you. You need to become smart and learn to handle yourself so that you'll survive, and so that you'll survive in a way that won't get you in trouble afterwards.
And since you can't handle that yourself, I will do it for you. If I must fake your death to get you away from this war, then I will. I have connections outside Britain who can protect you, and put you under a stronger charm than the Fidelius so that the Dark Lord will have to destroy the whole continent to get to you. And I don't think he'll have enough time and minions to go looking for you quite yet. At best, it will give you a new life and freedom, at worst, you'll get a few more years than you would have otherwise.
You keep telling me that you're mine, that I should call you mine and do with you whatever I want. Well, I accept, and this is what I'm going to do with you. A better way of making you mine than marking you with knives and tattoos.
And no, I'm not going to argue about this.
Yours,
Blaise
Dear Draco,
I don't
I'm going to stop pretending that you're not mad. You are, you know. Quite insane. Runs in the family, no doubt, although with you particular mix of utterly batshit relatives it would be difficult to point out where exactly yours comes from. In addition, you've been fucked by over by your father and his friends in so many ways that I can't even begin to explain it, let alone know how to undo the damage.
Anyway. I need to stop pretending that you're not mad.
The thing is, though, that I can't not care about you. There's a good chance your involvement with the dark Lord will get me killed; it's fairly certain it will get you killed. Having any sort of relations with you is foolish to the point of Hufflepuffness. My cousin Beppo (and don’t start pouting, you know I'm not shagging him anymore - it seems only you will do these days) is laughing at me because I'm supposed to know better than that. You're not intellectual, or knowledgeable, or mature; you are, in fact, none of the things I find attractive in people, and many things that I find disturbing. You can't take care of yourself, and you attach yourself to other people like a child in the hopes that they will. You let yourself be used in most horrific ways, and you refuse to admit it. You are unabashedly needy for attention, but have little scruples, it seems, in using Unforgivables on anybody. I should not care about you. I should not even tolerate you.
But, since it seems that I must love you nevertheless, here's what we're going to do. You are not going to get yourself killed. You're not going to allow yourself be used by Death Eaters, because they are going to lose this war, and then I would lose you. You need to become smart and learn to handle yourself so that you'll survive, and so that you'll survive in a way that won't get you in trouble afterwards.
And since you can't handle that yourself, I will do it for you. If I must fake your death to get you away from this war, then I will. I have connections outside Britain who can protect you, and put you under a stronger charm than the Fidelius so that the Dark Lord will have to destroy the whole continent to get to you. And I don't think he'll have enough time and minions to go looking for you quite yet. At best, it will give you a new life and freedom, at worst, you'll get a few more years than you would have otherwise.
You keep telling me that you're mine, that I should call you mine and do with you whatever I want. Well, I accept, and this is what I'm going to do with you. A better way of making you mine than marking you with knives and tattoos.
And no, I'm not going to argue about this.
Yours,
Blaise