"Bonds and Shackles," for slumber_8

[jain]

Title: Bonds & Shackles
Author: darkie
Pairing: Blaise/Theodore [implied Theodore/Draco]
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JKR and the Warner Bros. I make
no profit.
Summary: Post-War Slytherins living with the consequences of their
actions during the war. Theodore is working as a Healer, Blaise is
serving his sentence as an assistant to another Healer, and Draco is a
convicted prisoner.
Notes: Written to slumber_8 in response to her request at
hogwarts_yule.

These bonds are shackle-free
Wrapped in lust and lunacy
Tiny touch of jealousy
These bonds are shackle-free
Placebo - Ask For Answers

Bonds & Shackles

Blaise Zabini was having what he would call A Very Bad Day, even when
the words were insufficient in describing all the discomforts the day
actually held inside. Patients he could handle, because it had become
his job, even when he wasn't exactly thrilled to see any new patients
being brought in. Having half the Floo Network out of order on the
morning he was already getting late for work as it was was something
that bothered him a lot more.

On top of that, he was supposed to attend a hearing at noon, and he had
not had any time to prepare for that, nor would he have been
particularly eager to attend it anyway had he been better prepared.
There was just something about being accused of taking part in two dozen
deaths that made the hearing slightly unwanted. Being accused of
disloyalty towards Dumbledore had been one thing. He was still allowed
to work with people. Were he convicted for assisting in actual killing
of innocent people, his days of freedom would be over, and that was
something Blaise didn't want to think about. because as long as he
didn't think about it, it didn't exist. It had been over five years
since the incident, so why couldn't people simply learn to forget?

Now he wanted nothing more than to go back home and have a peaceful
breakfast alone while reading Daily Prophet's sports section and
possibly, if he was feeling adventurous enough that early in the
morning, the local news section. He was not in the mood for people or
for anything else that day.

However, Blaise found he had very little say in the matter.

He stepped inside through the warded doors after being inspected so
thoroughly by the two men standing there on guard that he had
contemplated on giving one of them his phone number so they could
organize another, much more private meeting. After they gave him
permission to enter and opened the door, he arrived in the red-floored
lobby of his workplace, and he saw a familiar tall man stumbling out of
one of the hearths to his right. The man was trying his best to regain
his posture while still wiping off the soot that Blaise had often damned
himself. The dark blotches on green never suited anyone, and it was
tiring to use the cleansing spell every single time one travelled by
Floo. As the green-robed young man raised his gaze, he noticed Blaise,
and Blaise was forced to smile and greet him.

"Theodore," he said, his voice a bit too loud and his tone a bit too
friendly, as the dark-haired man walked closer, still adjusting the
robes and brushing off a very insistent dirt stain. Eventually the man
took his wand and muttered a spell that Blaise didn't hear, but the
results were evident when the robe was shining brightly green again.

"Damn Network," was all Theodore said, and Blaise sympathised with him
and nodded.

"I was just going to start my round," he said when Theodore stopped in
front of him and looked at the elevators not far from them. He was
hoping the man would say he was going to do something completely
different, because he didn't feel like being sociable, but instead
Theodore gave a quick smile that was followed by, "Oh, me too."

Blaise had no other choice but to share the walk to the elevators with him.

"Have you seen Malfoy lately?" Theodore asked in what certainly seemed
like a very casual manner, even when anything relating to Malfoy could
hardly be called casual, and Blaise cringed involuntarily.

"Have you?"

"Just came back an hour ago."

Blaise gave him a long look and stepped inside the elevator. There was a
reason he rarely visited the floor thirteen, and that reason was Draco
Malfoy.

"Are you coming?" he asked, and Theodore followed his example and
stepped inside, his robes swishing as he turned around so that the two
of them were standing shoulder to shoulder in the narrow little box.

"Floor six," Blaise said, and the request was followed by, "Very well,"
by a neutral female voice, and then the doors closed before the elevator
started on its way down under the ground.

"How was he?" he asked to avoid standing there not talking, because that
was always awkward, especially when you were with someone you actually
knew. As he asked the question, he got a flash of grey stone and
dark-clad guarding wizards with wands hanging from their waistbands. He
had never liked the abusive little bastards, but fortunately he was now
more or less on the same side with them. Yet that hadn't always been the
case, and there was still that blasted hearing looming in the near
future. He tried not to think about it.

Theodore's reply woke him from his thoughts.

"The same. Bitter and quite sure he will be getting out in no time."

"Can't blame the bloke for not being optimistic. Five years and still hoping."

Delusional was the word Blaise was thinking, but he kept the notion to
himself. He knew there was no use in saying it out loud because everyone
who knew anything about the Malfoy situation knew it was the truth.
Draco Malfoy had become mental, and seemed to think he more or less
owned the world. Of course, it was quite possible that he had never been
anything but mental. Why the Purification Department thought there was
still hope was a mystery to Blaise.

On the second floor the doors opened and a short red-haired witch
stepped in, stating with a girly voice that her destination was floor
four. Blaise couldn't remember her name, but the quick glance at the
cauldron-shaped pin on her blue robes told him she was Sandy Moorhouse.
He had seen her there for a few times. Theodore, on the other hand,
seemed to be much more familiar with her, because when Blaise was still
trying to get rid of the mental image of Draco in grey, patched robes,
his eyes bloodshot but his pose still stoic, Theodore was asking how the
young woman was doing on the second floor. Blaise couldn't care less,
but apparently she was doing very well. Not too many difficult cases to
handle, she said, and the correct potions were easy enough to provide in
most of the cases. Some of the more difficult patients were suffering
from some forms of limb-loss, and she wondered - in a very light-hearted
manner that irritated Blaise - why they weren't being delivered to the
third floor instead. Potions aren't really targeted for something like
that, she said, then shrugged and smiled.

Then the doors opened again and the witch stepped out, and Blaise saw
Theodore looking after her for a long time.

"Ever had a good glance under those robes?" he asked, and Theodore
looked at him guiltily, to which Blaise could only shake his head.
"Honestly, Theo. Anything that moves?"

This, of course, was an overstatement, but Blaise was convinced Theodore
could do much better than consort with half-witted potions nurses.

Theodore remained silent, and the doors closed again.

"I bet you had a good feel at Draco, too," Blaise continued, his voice
oddly casual, considering what was actually going on inside his head.
Theodore seemed to have no answer to that, but he did avoid Blaise's
gaze, and Blaise had to snort in mild disbelief. It had been meant as a
joke but apparently the joke had failed. The man was clearly as insane
as his patients.

Again, the doors opened, but nobody came in. It was probably because the
elevator was too slow and the witch or wizard who had ordered it had
already taken another one, or perhaps they had taken the stairs instead.
Or maybe the Floo Network problems had invaded the elevators as well.
Blaise wouldn't put it past them. The doors closed once more, and the
next time they opened, on floor six, one wizard and three witches
stepped in. Both Blaise and Theodore greeted them, and Blaise stepped
out. Before the doors closed behind him, he heard someone say, "Floor
twelve." Theodore's floor and one Blaise was rarely allowed to enter,
and when he was, it wasn't a very pleasant visit.

He walked down the floor that was painted pale purple, until he came to
the receptionist and asked him if any particularly important patients
had arrived. The receptionist, a young man who had dark brown hair and
went by the name Darren Whitby, always reminded Blaise of one of the
Hufflepuffs from school. Blaise had a feeling the Hufflepuff boy's name
had been Whitby, as well, which would probably make this Darren his
relative. In any case, the resemblance was slightly disturbing as it
made Blaise constantly think this person wasn't up to the standards the
head Department had set.

Darren gave Blaise a note with two room numbers and names on it, and
Blaise looked at it. To his relief - and, he had to admit, slight
disappointment - he didn't recognize either one of the names. Sighing at
the fact that it was going to be another slow, quiet and in every
fashion uneventful morning, he headed for the corridor on the right
where the individual rooms were. Before he could check what the number
of the first room was, he saw a young woman who was giving him a stern
look.

"Lisa," he said with a neutral voice, as he walked to a person he would
have preferred to call his personal babysitter because that was the
nearest thing that Lisa Turpin was to him. Technically she was his
supervisor. Technically he was a prisoner. Of course, if ever asked, he
would deny it and call his situation a very special case of internship.

"I take it you've received the room numbers already," she said, and
Blaise nodded. "Let's get going, then."

* * *
When Blaise walked past room number seventeen, he heard high-pitched
laughter, and he took a few steps back and looked through the window on
the door of that room. There was Lockhart, and it seemed he had
discovered something extremely amusing and was pointing at it, even when
there was absolutely no one else in the room with him. Blaise had no
idea what it was that had caused so much thrilled amusement, but he
wasn't about to go and find out.

Giving the poor sod one final look Blaise continued on his way,
wondering why any higher force would choose to save insane and useless
people such as Lockhart and destroy a building full of people who had
much more potential of recovering and becoming fully operative citizens
of the world had they been given a chance. Granted, Lockhart wasn't the
only one to survive the sudden siege at St. Mungo's, but the fact that
the rescuers had been able to dig up and save only twelve percent of the
personnel and patients from the ruins, and Lockhart had been one of
those, seemed rather unfair. Then again, life tended to be unfair and
good people died. Just ask Harry Potter.

"We haven't got all morning," he heard Lisa say, and he glared at her.

"I'm sure the patient can wait a few seconds longer. It's not like he
has any sanity left to lose. What? Oh, all right."

They reached the room of the first patient, and he opened the door as
Lisa looked at him from a few feet's distance. In the room, there was
only one patient, and that patient was a middle-aged man who was looking
through the fake window and to Blaise he looked perfectly fine and sane.

"Ah, good morning-" he started in his very best and most professional
voice while checking the piece of parchment. "Alfred. Enjoying the
sunshine, are we?" The air in the room felt stale and heavy. "If you ask
me, getting some fresh air here could do wonders."

The man looked at him for a brief moment, then outside the window, then
at Blaise again, and there was something resembling a confused frown on
the man's face before he started crying. He was scraping his fingernails
against the window and banging it with his fists. When Blaise quickly
looked at the diagnosis, he read that this wizard was suffering from a
severe case of Imperius Curse gone terribly wrong. How something such as
Imperius Curse could even go wrong to begin with had been something
Blaise had wondered during the first few weeks of his service, but he
had soon learned not to ask questions and simply take things at their
face value.

Now when Blaise was familiar with the condition, it was all he could do
not to slap himself for not looking at the diagnosis before stepping
inside the room. He looked at the extra notes in the end. Curse-caster
dead, Finite Incantatem not working. Great, Blaise thought to himself,
once more reminded of the fact that this really was A Very Bad Day.

"Now, now, Alfred. Everything is fine," he said while taking a wand and
casting a protection spell to the window in order to stop it from
breaking. He didn't feel like having the illusion smashed into pieces
and replaced by stone and dirt that waited behind the fake window. He
glanced at the door behind him, but even when Lisa was there, she was
doing nothing to help the situation. Irritated at her attitude problem,
Blaise returned his attention to the patient. Fortunately the man
stopped the scraping and the banging and seemed to calm down a bit.
Blaise tried to figure out what to say next. Telling the man to get in
bed and take a nap would be the least dangerous thing to do, but it
would hardly fix the problem.

For a long moment Blaise contemplated on casting the man with one of the
stunning spells, but as none of the Healers would appreciate the
gesture, he decided against it. Instead, he cast an irritated look at
Lisa who was looking back at him. Finally he looked at his watch and
realized that he really didn't have enough time to start working on this
patient right now, so despite his original plans he had to tell him to
go to bed, and the man obeyed.

"I or someone else will come and check up on you later," Blaise said,
carefully examining the man's face in order to see if he had said
something he shouldn't have said, but there was no indication of the
sort, and he closed the door behind him. Once the door was closed and
sealed and warded with a couple of spells, Blaise gave a long sigh.

"You didn't think of lending me a hand in there?" he said to Lisa who
was looking at him with a weak smile that wasn't so much indication of
her amusement as it was indication of her irritation. "What?"

"I got directions from someone much higher than you can even imagine,
and I was told to let you help me. If you ask me, that's not going to be
much help when you look at the big picture. You pricks caused this mess
to begin with, and I intend to make you clean it up. With all due
respect, of course."

And she gave him a wide smile that reached nowhere near her eyes.

"Now, unless you have more questions for me, I suggest we go and check
up on the other patient."

Blaise closed his eyes tight for a while, wishing he wasn't where he was
but somewhere else. The day had hardly started and he was already
feeling the first symptoms of stress in his temples, which was neither a
good thing nor a normal thing. He wasn't used to getting a headache this
early in the morning. He wished he could go to the potions room to get a
vial of or two of the headache medicine, but he knew Lisa was not going
to give him permission.

As he was glancing through the report of the other patient, a young girl
who had been playing with the Cruciatus by herself, he made sure that
there was no postscript telling him that the girl was either suicidal,
homicidal or in any other way had possible violent tendencies, because
he was not in the mood for such laborious complications, or anything
else for that matter. Preparing a wide, friendly smile, he followed Lisa
and walked towards the girl's room, knocked on it out of courtesy, and
opened it. The black-haired 12-year-old was lying on the bed, sleeping,
but Blaise saw she was in pain.

"So, what do I do now?" he asked as he turned to look at his keeper. He
had never faced patients like this, so he had no idea of what to do to
her. He told her that, and it was her turn to give him an impatient
sigh.

"All right, just this once." She walked to the girl and touched her
sweaty forehead with a napkin she took from her pocket, then raised her
eyes, and Blaise could practically feel her darting gaze. "Pay
attention," she said with a voice so full of contempt he had no desire
to stand against her. Instead, he nodded.

* * *
"Do you have anything to add, Mr. Zabini? Any explanation you think
might set you free? A word of warning; offer me one supposedly funny
remark or an excuse with no evidence to back you up, and I will sentence
you to a lifetime in prison without the opportunity for Purification, so
pay attention to what you say."

Blaise was looking at the people around him, ogling at him, whispering
something to each other under their breath, the only indication of the
quiet gossiping being their quickly moving lips, and the incredulous
looks and smug smirks they shared. He wanted to move his hand and raise
it to offer them some rude gesture, but to his fortune he was unable to
do so because of the magical restraints of the chair; it would have
hardly helped him in his predicament. Instead, he concentrated on the
jury that was examining him - a group of people in plum-coloured robes,
their faces mostly blank or grave, some slightly curious.

He noticed Lisa and wondered what she was thinking. Judging by the empty
expression on her face, she could have been either for or against him.
He had no way of knowing. Next his eyes caught a glimpse of another
person in green; Theodore. So, Theodore had come to watch the show.
Blaise wasn't sure what to think of that - whether to be annoyed by the
man's constant presence in places he didn't belong, or to be happy that
there was someone there that had at least at some point of his life been
on the same side as Blaise, even when it had been years ago when they
had both been very young.

Finally Blaise moved his gaze towards Mrs. Bones. He still hadn't
answered her question.

"No, Madam. As I have already stated, I was not aware of the results. I
was merely following orders. I had no way of disobeying Mr. Malfoy,
because had I done so, I would have been killed myself. At the time, I
thought it necessary to save my life. Perhaps not very heroic or
altruistic," Blaise started, aware that a slight hint of annoyance was
creeping into his voice, and he stopped for a moment.

"Perhaps it wasn't what a fully good-natured person like professor
Dumbledore or Mr. Potter would have done, but I would still call it a
human thing to do, all things considered. We are all programmed to
self-preservation, are we not?"

After finishing, he stole a glimpse of the jury of several dozen people,
all looking at him, before he levelled his gaze with the Minister's.

"There are no words to describe how dismayed I am by the results of my
actions, and if there was something I could do, believe me, I would do
it. As I see it, there isn't. I can only ask Your Honour to be fair and
take all details into consideration."

After that, he bowed his head a little to give the image of a repentant
young man. Inside, he wasn't feeling as repentant as he knew he should
have. He wasn't happy about having anything to do with the deaths of two
dozen seemingly innocent people, but what was done was done. He didn't
have the power to bring them back; no one did. He understood the other
side up to a certain point, but if asked for an honest opinion, he would
much rather stay outside prison as long as possible, even if it called
for a bit of acting and strings of honeyed words.

The Minister looked around her, and the faces of every single member of
the jury turned up to look at her, and she nodded.

"We will hear the verdict at two o'clock. Make sure you don't wander
outside the building," she said, her voice stern, and Blaise nodded. He
felt the hold on his wrists loosening, and he was able to get up. He
rubbed the wrists as if they had been badly chafed, and he was soon
surrounded by three big wizards, two of them pointing their wands at
him. They asked him to step out of the hall, and he gave them a little
smirk, asking them to lead the way. Following the first one and having
the two others following him, he stepped outside. Theodore was there,
clearly waiting for a chance to come and talk to him.

"I can look after him," Theodore said to the guards, and Blaise resisted
the urge to stare. He didn't know Theodore had the authority to do
anything of the sort. But sure enough, the guards nodded in agreement
and left.

"Come," Theodore said. "There is a room we can use, just the two of us.
It's perfectly magic-free so they will have no reason not to allow you
there, wand or no wand."

Of course Blaise didn't have his wand because it had been taken away
from him. More than by the concept of a magic-free area Blaise was
intrigued by what Theodore was actually saying outside that notion; he
was asking Blaise to follow him to a room that would be just for the two
of them. Suddenly the one-hour waiting became a lot more interesting.

* * *
If Blaise were asked for one word to describe the room they stepped in,
it would have been 'Muggle'. He knew from Muggle Studies and later from
fieldwork during the war that this was very close to what was considered
an average living room with its desk, bookshelves, table, sofa and
armchairs. There were windows there, as well, but considering they were
on the twelfth floor under the ground, Blaise knew those windows were
just as much illusion as the ones on the sixth floor.

"All right, let's hear it. Why did you bring me here?" he asked, turning
to look at Theodore who was motioning him to sit down on the sofa. He
didn't sit until Theodore had sat down himself.

"I thought you would have liked this instead of standing there, having
to listen to Lisa for an hour going on about your questionable past. I
know you don't like her," Theodore said, and ended the comment with a
weak smile.

"You know me so well," Blaise said, his gaze resting on Theodore for a
while, then turning onto the light green walls of the room. "You think
they might paint the stone walls with something that is not grey if I
ask them nicely?"

He was smiling, but Theodore wasn't.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, do try to lighten up," Blaise said, laughing. "I
know they won't lock me up. I've been doing too good a job helping the
Healers."

Theodore was still not looking amused, and for the first time in a while
Blaise was feeling he might not get through the hearing as easily as he
had hoped. For a while, they sat there in silence, and Blaise was
looking out through the fake windows, and it seemed to be raining
heavily. He wasn't sure if it was really raining outside, but it didn't
matter.

"So, what does happen to me if they find me guilty?" he finally asked,
aiming for a light tone.

"You'll get to spend some quality time with Draco," Theodore said,
obviously trying for a similar lightness of voice but failing at it, and
Blaise cringed. For years, he had been living with the thought that
Draco's father was the reason he was likely to lose his freedom. It had
also been Draco's fault that Blaise had drifted onto the Death Eater
side of the war. Had there been no seduction, no ultimatums given,
Blaise could have very well ended up looking at the war from the third
side, the camp of the undecided.

Like so many times before, Blaise saw the stonewalls and the dark-clad
guards, and he saw Draco in the middle of if all, looking like he had
already died and it was only his body that remained in the world of the
living. If Blaise hadn't known better, he would have assumed Draco had
been Kissed by a Dementor.

"Sorry," Theodore said, having probably noted that the joke hadn't
worked. "If you want the truth, you'll probably be spending more time
with me."

Blaise knew that. Well, at least he had hoped it would be Theodore who
was assigned to him rather than someone else; someone Blaise didn't even
know. Of course, there were moments when Blaise would have preferred a
stranger over an acquaintance, because to have someone you know meddling
with your thoughts and attitudes, sometimes even personality, was
frightening to say the least. The issues of trust and the ever-present
possibility of becoming bitter when it was all over were only two of the
things that Blaise had considered. He was also not fully convinced
Theodore was on his side. He had refused the Death Eater side while
Blaise had drifted onto that side almost involuntarily. At one time,
they had trusted each other, but nowadays Blaise wasn't sure if he could
trust anyone anymore. It was best to trust only yourself.

Then there was the fact that Theodore had been working with Draco for
the better part of three years already, and Draco still remained
unbreakable. Granted, Draco was a strong personality, having been
brought up in a Death Eater family since birth, so weeding out those
deeply hidden attitudes and the possible thought-protection charms set
by Mr. Malfoy was bound to be difficult, if not impossible.

Blaise's case was very likely an easier one, and yet it could probably
be just as difficult, because even when there were no extra charms set
on Blaise, he was inherently suspicious of having someone tweaking his
mind. He liked his attitudes and personality as they were. To have those
intact even after the Purification Process was essential for him, which
was exactly the thing that created both trust and mistrust towards
Theodore. Theodore was his old friend and would very likely handle him
with extra care compared to some insufferably work-happy Ravenclaw, but
the fact that they had been friends meant that none of the Purification
sessions would be fully professional. Between those two extremes, Blaise
had a difficulty choosing which one was better and which one was worse,
but generally he preferred the latter. At least he would get company he
didn't feel like hexing.

From the Purification Process, Blaise's thoughts went to Draco, because
those two had become so tightly connected to each other during the past
few years. Despite whatever anger he felt towards Draco for pulling him
in the mess that was about to cost him his freedom, Blaise could no
longer avoid talking about the subject. He took a deep breath before
opening his mouth.

"Your relationship with Draco," he started, stopping for a brief moment
to choose the right words. "Is it fully professional? I mean, do your
meetings consist of more than just potions, spells, and mind games?"

He wasn't completely sure what he wanted the answer to be. When he saw
Theodore averting his gaze, he already knew what the answer was, and to
his surprise he found he didn't like it.

"We're instructed to do whatever we can to persuade them on our side,"
Theodore said, the answer so politically correct and seemingly
inoffensive that Blaise wanted to snap at him but didn't.

"What do you think you're going to do with me?" Blaise asked. "Am I
beyond redeemable or do you think I could be moulded into a proper
citizen of the year?"

Theodore inspected him for a long time, his expression revealing no
emotion of any kind.

"I would have to consult a Legilimens first. What do you think?"

Blaise shrugged, wanting to drop the subject. He had never felt like he
deserved to be locked up in a prison cell simply for following other
people's orders. Certainly he had been at least partially responsible
for the deaths of some people, but as he saw it, he had had no other
option. Why couldn't everyone see it that way? He looked at the window
again, and saw the rain had changed into a storm.

"We have, what, an hour to ourselves?" he asked with a sudden change in
his voice. "What do you suppose we should do? After all, this could very
well be my last afternoon of freedom."

He got up and walked across the room to read the backs of the books, but
there was nothing interesting there. He picked one of the books and
started browsing through it. Muggle literature.

"If you're tired, you could take a nap. If you want to talk, I'm here.
You're the one waiting for the possible sentence, so it's up to you what
we do."

Blaise, still holding the book, turned to look at him over his shoulder.

"I don't suppose you'd be up for a quick shag, hmm?" he asked, and he
was fascinated by the sudden rush of various emotions on Theodore's
face.

"I-" Theodore started but didn't finish. "No."

Blaise laughed.

"I'm hurt. You do it with Draco who's the one fucked in the head and
impossible to crack, but not with me? Tell me, Theo, how am I supposed
to feel now?"

There was a slight indication of panic in Theodore's eyes, which Blaise
found surprising. He hadn't thought Theodore to be someone without a
sense of humour.

"I was just pulling your leg," Blaise said in a conciliatory manner.
"It's not my business what goes on between you and various other people.
If you ask me, sex is nice, and one should have as much of it as
possible."

At that, Theodore seemed to relax a little, but he still looked a little
suspicious when Blaise closed the book, shoved it back on the shelf and
walked to stand next to Theodore who was still sitting on the sofa.

"I tell you what," he said. "We just sit here and talk about our
schooldays like nothing bad had ever happened, and then when it's almost
two, we get out and I go hear my sentence. No sexual references, no
hitting on each other, no dubious innuendos. Just two blokes reminiscing
the good old days."

He offered a hand to Theodore, who looked at it with a bit of suspicion
in his eyes before taking it and shaking it.

Blaise sat down, and suddenly he felt so incredibly tired that the idea
of taking a nap felt quite appealing.

"You start. Your best memory from the time before Draco came to tell us
he's joined the Death Eaters?" Blaise asked, looking at Theodore and
trying to find a better position on the sofa. He pulled his legs up and
leaned his head against the soft armrest, and when he was feeling
comfortable he closed his eyes.

There was a moment of silence between them, while Theodore was trying to
think of the question and his answer.

"The day you told me I didn't have to be my father," he finally said,
and Blaise opened his eyes that were already feeling sore.

"Really?" he asked, not quite sure what more there was to say. Theodore
nodded, and Blaise looked at him for a while, then closed his eyes
again.

When he opened them, he saw Theodore was looking at him - or, rather,
through him as he seemed to be deep in thought - with a vague smile
playing on his lips. For a brief moment Blaise wondered why Theodore
hadn't explained why that one moment had been so important to him, but
before he could ask Theodore about it, the young man noticed Blaise had
opened his eyes and lowered his gaze.

"It's almost two already," he said, and Blaise frowned. "You fell asleep."

It took a moment for Blaise to understand that he really had fallen
asleep, and when he realized how late it was already, he pulled himself
up quickly. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he combed his hair with his
fingers, trying to tidy it up a little. When he got up, he brushed off
the creases in the robes.

"We should probably go there," he said, motioning towards the door.
"Wouldn't want to miss the verdict."

Theodore's shoulders sank a little and for a moment he looked extremely
tired. Then he got up, adjusting his robes, and walked to the floor.

"Convicts usually get to tell their last wishes, don't they?" Blaise
asked, and Theodore stopped his hand on the door handle and turned
around. He was looking at Blaise with mild confusion lingering on his
face before nodding.

"If I'm locked up, make sure you do a damn good job at getting me free.
If I'm freed from the charges, I'm always up for some Firewhisky. Let's
say today after work, hmm?"

"Sure," Theodore smirked, but Blaise couldn't miss the expression in his
eyes that indicated that he wasn't feeling very hopeful. Theodore opened
the door, and the quiet of the room changed into a rumble of noises.
Once again, the world consisted of dozens of noisy witches and wizards,
and Blaise wanted nothing more than to go and have a nice, long nap on
the sofa.

* * *
"Floor thirteen," one of the three black-robed guards said, and Blaise
stared at him while thinking of two dozen different hexes and curses he
would have wanted to cast on him.

"Very well," came the neutral female voice Blaise had become so used to
hearing, but this time it seemed to mock him in its impersonality. It
only took a short while for them to get from floor eleven to floor
thirteen, and when they did and the doors opened, he was pushed out of
the elevator. His wrists were tied up in front of him with a tying
spell, and two guards were standing on his sides, holding him by his
arms. The third one was leading the way.

The walls were greyer than Blaise had remembered, and the air was even
staler than it was in some of the patients' rooms. It was cool in the
dungeon-like corridor, and dimmer than necessary with its lack of
windows, and from all the floors it was the single one that made no
pretence of suggesting people they weren't deep under the ground.

They walked him through the corridor, until they came to a metal door.
One of the guards walked to it, pointed his wand at it and muttered
something, and the door opened. They stepped inside the stony hall
Blaise had seen only three or four times in his whole life when he had
visited Pansy and the one time he had been crazy enough to go and see
how Draco was doing. The walk along the corridor seemed long, and he
looked at the locked doors on each side, wondering absentmindedly the
purpose of those rooms. Finally they reached the corridor's end and
turned left.

"Well, well," came the voice Blaise had expected to hear, but it still
managed to push him a little off balance. "I take this is not a casual
visit."

Blaise was staring into the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

"Welcome to my humble home, Blaise," Draco continued, and Blaise felt
the sudden urge to growl and bare his teeth. "Roommates once again. Ah,
irony, I've missed you."

"You're insane," Blaise said, knowing it would most likely have no
effect on the young man standing in front of him. He was shoved into the
cell one the left side of Draco's, and the bars were cast shut and
warded so that nobody could get in or out without the authority to do
so. To Blaise's slight shock, there was no proper wall between their
cells, only a few thick bars.

"Now, there's no need to call me names, Blaise. Before long, you'll be
praising whatever gods you believe in that I'm here to keep you
company." Draco offered his hand through the bars, but Blaise had no
intention of taking it.

"Somehow I doubt it," he said, snarling at Draco and looking around at
his cell. There was nothing there to make his life any easier than
necessary. Outside the cell, there was a torch on the ceiling to give
light. Inside the cell, he had a bed and a little table, and a little
pot under the bed. Humiliating, really.

"Do I get books here?" he asked one of the guards, but the guard only
grunted at him. Another guard, one that seemed a little more civilized
than the first one, nodded and said that he was allowed to read books
and write letters but nothing more. Three times a week, a Healer would
come to him and take him to another room for the Purification Process.
Other than that, his life would be quite boring. "Visitors are allowed
once a week for one hour at a time," the guard added, but Blaise already
knew that.

"Play nicely," the first guard said before the three of them left Blaise
and Draco alone. Blaise heard there were other prisoners there as well,
but he couldn't see them because they were located further down the
corridor, hidden behind walls. He didn't recognize any of the voices and
felt a little disappointed. He could have used some sensible company
instead of being stuck with a self-absorbed Malfoy. He knew that Pansy
was in the corridor to the right, so she was too far away.

"It was about time you came here," Draco said. "I can't believe they let
you stay free this long."

Blaise didn't even bother turning to look at him. Instead, he stretched
out on the bed and closed his eyes, covering his face with his arm.

"All right, we'll talk later," Draco said, and Blaise heard the
shuffling of his robes and the creaking of the bed as he sat down. The
everything was silent except for the murmur of others talking with each
other. Blaise couldn't hear what they were talking about, and soon he
didn't hear anything because he fell asleep.

* * *

On his third day in his hell of a prison cell, he woke up to someone
making noise at the big door. Someone was coming to see them, and it
wasn't the people bringing food.

Blaise turned around onto his right side and his eyes were fixed on the
corner in the corridor. He tried to recognize the visitor by the sound
of the footsteps, to no avail. Then he saw the green robes, and the dark
hair. It was Theodore. But Theodore wasn't looking at Blaise; he was
looking at Draco. When Blaise looked at Draco, he saw the young man was
smirking.

"Excellent timing," Draco said. "I was already wondering if I should
start without you," he continued before turning to look at Blaise. "Of
course, I'm not sure the audience would approve of me playing with
myself. Maybe later."

Theodore seemed to finally notice Blaise, and Blaise saw guilt written
all over his face.

"Is there a reason for me to be jealous?" Draco asked, but Blaise's eyes
didn't leave Theodore, and Theodore was looking anywhere but towards
Blaise as he took his wand and tied Draco's hands with a spell before
casting the opening spells on the door. The door clicked open.

"Just follow me," Theodore said, his voice tense, and Draco gave Blaise
a wide smile before obeying the order.

"I promise you I won't wear him out," were Draco's last words to Blaise
before he and Theodore disappeared behind the corner. Blaise listened to
the footsteps falling on the stony floor, and soon he heard a door
creaking as it was opened and then shut with a loud bang.

--End--