Complete header information may be found in
Chapter One. You may find all parts of this story by clicking the
Harry Potter and the Slytherin's Hair tag.
Chapter Five: That Voice in His Head
A few weeks later, Ginny entered the common room wearing an
unusual bracelet.
"Hey, isn't that Dragon Fire
Ficus?" Ron asked his sister.
"Yep," she replied, throwing herself down
on the sofa by the fire. "Millicent gave it to me from her
cutting of Neville's plant."
"You mean, Blaise's cutting,"
Harry said.
"No, I mean Millicent's. Blaise has given
all the Slytherin girls cuttings. Her plant's growing really
fast."
Neville, sitting with Hermione at one of the tables, looked
up, his brow furrowing. "It's not supposed to
grow that fast."
"Good for you then, Nev," Ginny told him,
pulling a book from her pack and beginning to read.
"No wonder it's so warm down
there," Neville mused.
"You look worried, Neville," Hermione said.
"Well, it's odd. I didn't do
anything special to it to make it grow. I wonder if-hey,
Harry, you talking
to Zabini at all?"
"No."
"I guess I'll have to, then. She
hasn't mentioned any problems in Herbology."
"Perhaps she doesn't consider the growth
rate a problem," Hermione suggested.
Ron stared at Ginny's bracelet, watching the little
flames lick her wrist. "Doesn't that
hurt?"
"No."
"Great. Everyone's in a mood,"
the redhead grumbled.
The rift between Harry and Ron had translated into a grim
atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room.
Everyone kept out of the Seventh Years' separate ways, and no
one mentioned the altercation in the
changing rooms. As most of the other Seventh Years were too busy
studying for their N.E.W.T.s to
care, the fight had lasted much longer than it normally would have, but
Hermione was tired of it.
"Right. This is ridiculous. You two should make up
already."
"Leave it, Hermione," Ron said.
"Sure, he won't apologize, so
there's no problem, is there?" Harry shot back.
"Don't start, you two," Ginny
ordered.
Ron and Harry remained resolute in their silence.
"Well, I'm going to the
library," Hermione said, shoving her books into her pack.
"I'm sick to death of
all the tension."
"Want me to come with?"
"No, Ron. I don't. In fact, I
don't think you'll be coming any time
soon," the witch said, striding off.
"Woah. Did Granger just make a sexual
reference?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely astonished.
"Shut up, Thomas!"
"'Shut up, Thomas',"
Dean mimicked Ron, which made the other boy's face redden so
deeply that his
freckles were lost in the flush of color.
Harry decided it would be a good time to leave, and, with
Neville in tow, exited the room and walked
toward the kitchens.
"So, Zabini's nice, isn't
she?"
"What do you mean,
'nice'?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Just what I said. I like her. She's good
with plants-brilliant, apparently-and, you know,
fetching. I
was thinking that I might ask her for a butterbeer."
Shit. Great. Wonderful. Neville has a hell of a lot
more in common with Blaise than I do. They're
Herbology partners. And he doesn't seem to have any trouble
talking to her.
"Harry?"
"What?"
"Would you mind if I-"
"It's not up to me, now is it?"
"I know you like her . . . ."
"Yeah, well, she doesn't like me,
Neville. Do what you want."
"Right then, I will. Thanks, Harry."
They entered the kitchens to find Zacharias Smith, Susan
Bones, and the Patils studying at a table laden
with treats, house elves hovering around them.
"Oh, it is Harry Potter! Dobby is happy to see
him!"
"Hi, Dobby," Harry said disconsolately, as
Neville joined the others.
"Dobby would like to say things to Harry Potter
alone."
"You would?"
"Yes, Harry Potter. Come with Dobby," the
house elf said, tugging on Harry's sleeve and drawing him
further into the kitchens.
"What's wrong?"
"Harry Potter is wrong. Dobby knows that Harry
Potter is liking Blaise Zabini and not being very
successful in his wooing. House elves, we knows how to woo, and Dobby
is wanting to help Harry
Potter."
Biting back a rude comment about Dobby's
'help' of him in the past, Harry said,
"Really, Dobby, that's
nice-but I don't need any help, I promise
you."
"Dobby hates to say it, but Harry Potter is wrong,"
the diminutive being said, his eyes wide and
sincere. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter misunderstood about the
faeries and the Christmas dinner. Dobby
meant it to be romantic for a wizard and witch, but Harry Potter did
not kiss Blaise Zabini. Dobby
thinks that Harry Potter may be . . . ."
"What? What do you think I might be?"
The house elf sighed. "Stupid," he said,
cringing.
Got it in one. "Look,
I'm not . . . I'm not good with
witches-with Blaise-and you should just forget
about trying to help me."
The house elf floated up so that he could look into the
boy's eyes, and reached out to pet his arm in a
reassuring way. "Dobby understands that even great wizards is
not being good at everything, Harry
Potter, but Dobby must help, and help Harry Potter Dobby
will," he said, before winking out of sight.
Oh, no. Oh, fuck, no, Harry thought,
feeling his stomach drop to his knees. Just when I thought it
couldn't get any worse!
"Neville!" Parvati exclaimed.
"What's wrong?"
Harry turned in time to see Neville clutch his stomach.
"It hurts. I feel . . . dizzy," he said,
sliding to the floor.
"Dobby!" Harry yelled.
But the house elf did not appear.
A tiny hand tugged on Harry's arm. "Winky
is knowing what Dobby is doing. Dobby says that Harry
Potter has to go on a date with the Blaise, and then Dobby will make
the Neville all better."
"What? But he can't do
that!"
"Dobby is a bad house elf," Winky said,
sniffing, "and he is doing many things he should
not."
"But," Harry began to say, watching the
others take Neville out of the kitchens, "but what if she
says
no?"
"Winky is thinking Dobby will not care, Harry
Potter."
"Fuck." I've got to go
to the dungeons. I can't bother Professor Dumbledore with
this, can I?
He never made it there, however, because the heat from the
Dragon Fire Ficuses was oppressive, and
Snape was on the warpath.
"GET THESE OUT OF HERE!" he was
thundering, as several Slytherin girls, none of them Blaise,
rushed down the main dungeon corridor carrying the plants.
"If I find out who is responsible for this
menacing foliage, I will shred him or her alive!"
Harry hot-footed it back up to the upper floors. Once there,
he decided it might be a good time to visit
Hedwig, who had moved to a high perch in the rafters of the Owlery with
Silvio.
"Hey there, you two. How's the family
planning coming?"
Hedwig hooted proudly at him. Silvio spun his head. Harry sat
down on the windowsill and worried.
After awhile, he noticed an unfamiliar auburn-feathered owl
watching him curiously from a high perch, a
large pot containing a Fire Ficus-a Dragon Fire
Ficus-sitting next to it.
"You're very pretty. Who do you belong
to?" One of the Slytherins, I'll bet.
The owl issued a short series of angry sounding hoots at him.
"Ah, you're a female owl. I should have
known. I'll just shut up now, shall I?"
The bird ruffled out its feathers and flew down to the other
side of the windowsill. And then it
shimmered, stretched, and formed the shape of a curvaceous young woman
with piles of shining hair.
"Blaise!"
"Hoot," she said, appearing pleased that
she had so startled him.
"You're an Animagus!"
"Obviously," she replied, picking bits of
bird fluff out of her hair. "It's certainly messy
in here, isn't it?"
"Are you registered?"
"Are you mad?"
"When did you become an-"
"You aren't going to tell anyone about my
plant, are you? Snape's furious."
"Yeah, I know. I was just down there. And of course
I won't say anything-but are you sure it
won't
catch the Owlery on fire?"
"It won't. It's bespelled.
I'm amazed at you, Potter. You're always walking up
here just as I've
changed. You really didn't know?"
"I really didn't know, and I wish
you'd call me Harry," he said, seeing that she was
wearing her uncle's
torc. "Do you always wear that?"
Blaise's hand flew to her throat to caress the gold
around it. "Yes, Harry, I do."
"I'm impressed."
"By the torc?"
"No, by your being an Animagus. That must have taken
some doing." She said my name. Maybe she
isn't mad at me anymore. Perhaps she will go out with me.
Poor Neville! She has to go out
with
me. "I'd love to be able to fly without a
broom."
"It is fun. I've been,
well, I've had a lot of time to practice, haven't
I?"
Nice one, Potter. Now you've reminded her
that you got her thrown off the Slytherin Reserves
for awhile. "God, I'm sorry, Blaise. I
didn't mean for my present to-"
"It's all right. Professor Snape made
Malfoy take me back, didn't he? And I prefer wings to
broomsticks, anyway. I also like your present, Harry," she
said in a small voice.
He smiled. "You do? I suppose you must, seeing as
how you've hidden it from Snape."
"My mother wouldn't send me mine from
home."
"Oh. I'm sorry about that, too."
"You're sorry about a lot of things,
aren't you?"
"Even Malfoy."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I shouldn't have done that to him.
If it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure I actually
meant
to do it. I was just mad."
"That doesn't make me feel better. Harry,
with that kind of power . . . you can't get mad.
You'll really
hurt someone, you know."
"Yeah, I know. I've been practicing to
control it."
"Have you? Well, good. You won't tell? I
think Professor Snape suspects, but he hasn't said
anything."
I'll bet he isn't the only one,
Harry thought, thinking about Dumbledore. "You did it to
escape-from
your family-if you had to, didn't you?"
"Yes. Uncle 'Carlo suggested it.
It's too bad he didn't take his own advice about
always having an
escape plan," Blaise said, bitterness coloring her tone.
"Why do you trust me? I know that you
don't like me, and-" The tears that
welled up in the girl's
eyes at his words stopped Harry's mouth. What did I
say? he thought, reaching out a hand toward
Blaise in concern.
She took it. "You think I don't like
you?"
"Well, you haven't spoken to me in weeks.
What am I supposed to think?"
"I . . . you scared me, Harry, when you did that to
Malfoy. I thought it was dangerous to be around
you."
"I would never hurt you, Blaise.
Never," he said emphatically, lightly squeezing her hand.
"I don't want
to scare you. I'm sorry."
"Can you truly not help yourself?"
"My mouth, it's-"
"I didn't mean your mouth," the
girl said, wiping her tears away with her free hand. "I meant
your
magic."
"Oh. Well, I usually do okay, and Professor
Dumbledore's helping me get better at it."
"Helping you learn to kill, you mean."
Harry did not have an answer to the question.
Blaise sighed and retracted her hand. "Sometimes I
feel sorry for myself, and then I remember what
your life is like."
"My life. Yeah. It's been . . .
interesting. But I can't really complain. I've got
friends, people who . . .
who love me, and I'm happy here. And . . . and I like you,
Blaise," Harry said, his chest tight. Please
don't mind me saying so.
"Do you?" she whispered, looking out at
him from behind a thick lock of hair.
The Gryffindor reached out to smooth it back behind one of her
ears, leaning forward without actually
intending to do so, and found himself perilously close to the
Slytherin's mouth.
"Har-"
Just hearing her voice was permission enough, the boy decided,
and then all thought left him as the light
delicious press of Blaise's lips met his own. When hers
parted, it seemed wrong not to slide his tongue
inside of her mouth and stroke hers, tentatively at first, and then
with more exploratory zeal. He found
the low murmur of approval humming from Blaise into him intoxicating,
and soon his hands wound
through her hair to pull her more deeply into their kiss.
The sweetness of it, the headiness, soon became more urgent as
Harry's trousers tightened and his
breath came faster, and there was a voice, perhaps his own, whispering
to him: Take her. Use her.
Consume her. "No!" he
cried, pulling violently away from her.
"But-"
Harry's voice sounded ragged and foreign to him as
he ground out between clenched teeth, "You have
to go. Now, Blaise. Please, just go."
"You liked it. I know you did.
Why are you-your scar! Harry, what's
wrong?"
"Get. Out. Go. Go now,"
he ordered, focusing on the pulsing pain in his forehead, and not the
rapine
images in his mind. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" he
shrieked, trying to channel his fear for Blaise and
his rage at Voldemort into the open bond between himself and the Dark
Lord toward that wizard.
Blaise did not go. Instead, she threw herself at Harry,
seizing his hair and pulling his head toward hers,
bruising their lips with the force of her kiss.
NO! Harry screamed in his mind. He could
feel himself respond to Voldemort's tempting, and wanted
nothing more than to rip into the girl who's body was
pressing his into the stone.
Then do it, boy. Take her. She wants it. You can have
her. You can have anything you want if
only you'll take it!
A large hand clasped Harry's shoulder then and
roughly jerked him away from Blaise toward the floor.
"Get out of here, Zabini. It isn't safe
for you," Ron Weasley's strained voice said
gruffly. "GO!"
"He's my friend, too!"
"Then be one and leave. Can't you see
he's fighting something?"
"But-"
"Blaise!"
Don't let the boy interfere! She'll
get away! Stop her, Potter.
"GetoutofmyheadoutofitoutofitOUTOFIT!"
he screamed, trying not to look at the images of Blaise that
the Dark Lord was sending, trying not to want what
he was being urged to do.
"It's Voldemort. I
can't-"
"Get out of here, or I'll throw you out,
Zabini!"
The clatter of shoes over the boards of the feather-strewn
floor and his best friend's voice calling his
name brought Harry back to himself.
"Harry? Harry, you okay, mate? Harry, you in there?
You alone in there? Harry?" Ron asked, kneeling
down before the other boy and peering anxiously into his face.
"Ron," he replied hoarsely, "did
I hurt-"
"No, you didn't. You didn't hurt
Blaise, Harry. She's gone."
"Shit. He wanted me to hurt her."
"Voldemort."
"Yeah," Harry said, sitting up and hanging
his head so that Ron would not see the tears in his eyes.
"Fuck."
"But you got rid of him, right? That's
good, isn't it?"
"None of this is good! I only just kissed her, and
Voldemort tried to make me hurt her!"
"But you didn't hurt her Harry. You
stopped yourself. You stopped him."
"What if I can't do it again?"
"You'll be able to do it again,
mate," Ron said with a certainty that Harry envied.
"But I think we'd best
get you to Professor Dumbledore. He should know about this."
"I . . . I can't. I
can't tell him about this."
"You have to, Harry. You know that you do. If you
don't . . . ."
"You'll tell him?" the boy
asked, looking at Ron in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, but this isn't just
about you. It's about Voldemort. And Blaise. And all of us.
I'm sorry,
Harry, but you know I'm right."
"Crap. I'm going to die-a
virgin-and he's going to win."
"Don't say that!"
"Why the hell not?" Harry spat, jumping to
his feet. "It's true! He gets into my head.
He makes me . . .
want to do things. Who knows how long
he's been in there, spying, pushing me? It's about
'all of us',
you said-it isn't about me. I
don't have any con-"
The wet sound of Ron's fist striking
Harry's mouth stopped the boy's ranting, and he
fell backward and
would have fallen if the taller boy had not have caught his arms to
prevent it.
"Why'd you do that for?"
Ron folded his arms around Harry and pulled him into a fierce
hug. It felt weird, weird but good, too,
and Harry gave into it and issued a sigh that threatened to pull tears
with it, but managed, with great
effort, not to cry as he hugged his friend back.
"You um, you can cry if you want."
"No," Harry said, his
voice thick.
"Good-I mean, sure,
whatever," Ron replied, giving Harry a squeeze and then
releasing him. "Sorry
about that punch, mate, but I hate listening to your, 'My
Life Sucks, Hear Me Whine' speech. I'm not
saying that it doesn't, of course, but do you really have
time to feel sorry for yourself just now?"
"That hurt, you prat," Harry replied,
rubbing his mouth. "But . . . thanks, and sorry. I
didn't know that I
um, whined."
"I s'pose you've got plenty of
reason to, really," Ron said, pulling his wand and healing
Harry's face.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. Dumbledore?"
"You're pushy. What are you doing up here,
anyway?"
"It's not like I'm kissing
anyone, is it? Besides, I figured you'd be up here and wanted
to patch things
up. I don't like it when we fight."
"Neither do I. Did . . . did you threaten
Blaise?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the
time," Ron said sheepishly. "So, how was
it?"
Harry flushed. "Um, good, you know, until . . .
."
"Right. Dumbledore."
"It's embarrassing," Harry
protested.
"I'm sure it is," Ron said,
crossing his arms.
Harry knew enough about his friend to know that there would be
no point to argue further. "Right.
Dumbledore."