Solitude and Coffee
Date: Sunday, May 28, 1998
Characters: Blaise Zabini, Victoria, Harry ...
Location:Hogwarts,
Status: Public
Summary: Blaise indulges in coffee and a few minutes of quiet time out by the lake.
Completion:Incomplete
Blaise lifted the mug of coffee he'd sneaked out with him to his lips and took a long sip, closing his eyes as the steam curled up and hit his face, warming it against the chill of the spring air. He drew back and let his arms drop down to hang out over his drawn up knees, the mug dangling from the fingers of his right hand whilst the left stroked the side, seeking out it's warmth. He thought of his grandfather's house and the way he'd sat out earlier in the year than this on the terrace looking out to the sea and not felt a hint of chill in the air. He thought of the years before when he'd sat out by the lake this close to the summer holidays, the dread of leaving lying low in his stomach, pushed down and away lest he think too long on it and forget it was something he was supposed to hide. It had never felt this cold though, and he wondered if he was imagining the chill raising the goose bumps along his arms beneath his cloak.
He drew the mug back to his mouth, lips mouthing at the lip of the cup as though he could draw all the heat from the drink just by breathing in the steam.
It wasn't that he was cold so much as numb. Blaise felt like he should feel different. More... more something.
Sad. Guilty. Jubilant. Relieved.
He wasn't sure what particular emotion fit, but he was sure he was supposed to be feeling one of them right now at least. Something more than the lost, slightly disconnected feeling permeating his bones and making the night air chillier than it was.
It certainly felt like everyone around him was.
Everyone busy, trying to repair, put things back together, grieve, celebrate, reconnect. Blaise watched them distantly, and thought maybe it was just that he was less of a part of this. He'd stayed out. Done his grieving for the only loss the war had really brought him earlier. Before the battle of last week. Before the fear of what You-Know-Who’s return had really sunk into the mass populace. He glossed over the fact that he had still to even visit Alex's grave. Dealt with. moved on. Wasn't as if they'd even been close or in touch when he'd died.
Sometimes though, sometimes he'd look at one of the students or helpers milling about the school and catch a look in their faces that made him wonder if maybe the numbness was not so unusual. Not so exclusive to him. And that maybe feeling lost and unsure where the future lay after such a world changing event did not make him that cold hearted after all.
Blaise thought perhaps he should get a book and read up on the area of psychology that dealt such events so as to better understand. He'd read a few before. Remembered glancing at a chapter that dealt with more personal life changing events, specifically looking at the transition students underwent when moving from their studies to the 'real world' for the first time. He’d thought it important to be prepared for how that change might affect him and those around him. Thinking on it now, Blaise thought that maybe the two circumstances weren't that different really. Definitely there were similarities on the stresses both would place on an individual even given that one was a little more extreme. The same uncertainty concerning where things went now.
Blaise cocked his head, his thoughts preoccupied on human behaviour as he watched the warm air from his drink mingle with the nights and turn into smoke, curling and leaping from the mug into the sky. Dragon's breath his grandpa had called it once when he'd visited him and his mother in Yorkshire at Blaise's third step-father's house. As a child, still unaware of the true nature of Dragon physiology and the lack of logic in the comparison when you brought science into the equation, Blaise had grinned and grasped at the whispered secret eagerly. As an adult, he frowned at the moment of innocence in vague disapproval - mild envy - and took another sip.
He’d stayed away from the other students for majority of the past week. Nothing new there. Wasn’t as if he’d ever been the most sociable of students even in less fraught times. But it was certainly easier to step back now, leave the others that had stayed in the castle to deal with their own grief and jubilation, and just watch, listen, see which way people were turning.
There’d been funerals. A few he should have gone to, and he supposed by now he should be used to them. Of all the students in the school he was the most prepared to deal with them. Should have been the most numb. But they brought up too many memories and worries. Left fear coiling low in his belly in a way that made him feel sick and ready to run. Blaise hated that they reduced him to that, hated the weakness the feeling brought with it. And it wasn’t as if he’d been close to those who’d died. Wasn’t as if they’d even feigned friendliness in most cases. It had been easier not to go. Save facing those feeling for the ones he couldn’t avoid, the ones that duty and position tied him into.
He’d sought McGonagall out after discovering the out come and Voldemort’s demise. Approached her in one of the brief periods where she was surrounded by fewer contemporaries and do-gooders. He’d watched for almost a full four hours before picking his moment, choosing it carefully so that attention was drawn away from her and his approach would be more likely to be overlooked by most. Asked what he could do to help in the same voice he’d always asked her about a pass for the Restricted Section. The memory of her seeming dismissal before the battle still flirting on the outskirts of his mind as she suggested an activity that was somewhat solitary and entirely suited to his preferences. Flared memories of conditions set before.
Blaise had spent the week slipping from room to room in the castle, repairing broken panes of glass, making note of the more damaged ones that would require more careful, advanced reconstruction like those almost entirely lost or the enchanted stained glass that lit up certain of Hogwarts’ rooms.
For the majority it kept him away from the main groups of students and adults working on restoring the castle and he was glad of the isolation and protection from having to deal with the confrontations and conversation that company would have threatened. Blaise had always liked the castle at Christmas best, when most of the students were gone and he didn’t have to worry quite as much who was watching and what questions were being asked of him.
Still, there were those confrontations that had been unavoidable. It would have been naïve to think he could have done the work without running into at least a few people, no matter how careful he was. For the most part on those occasions he slipped into his old demeanour, blank look, shoulders and back straight, haughty and easy to pass off as just another pompous git. Surprising how well it worked, how easily people judged, wrote off, ignored and left Blaise to work quietly, watching them out the corner of his eye as he mended another pane. But there had been moments when those whose paths crossed his had seemed to have a need that outweighed common sense and quick judgements.
Thursday he’d been working in some of the classrooms near Ravenclaw Tower and had run across a fourth year girl, sat at one of the desks holding a worn note book in her hand. Blaise had pulled up his walls, smug, dismissive glance constructed and directed to her as he passed, but she’d apparently been too preoccupied to notice it and interpret the warning correctly. Instead, Blaise had been forced into a twenty minutes of awkward hell as she opened her heart to him about an older brother that had died during the battle, thumbing the book the entire time as she wept. Thankfully though, that had been the only time someone had felt the need to open up to him.
Blaise looked out across the lake and watched as an owl swooped down skimming the surface. He relaxed the muscles in his face as the bird drew up and headed for the castle not him. He was certain news had reached South Africa and his mother of last week’s turn of events by now. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that she had so far deemed checking up on him unimportant. He wondered if she’d be disappointed that the Death Eater’s hadn’t seen him important enough to recruit rather than glad he’d managed to avoid both the attention and disapproval. He let out a low snort at the thought that was probably just crazy enough to be true and took another drink of his coffee, staring down into the cup and frowning lightly at the few inches of warm contentment that remained.
Characters: Blaise Zabini, Victoria, Harry ...
Location:Hogwarts,
Status: Public
Summary: Blaise indulges in coffee and a few minutes of quiet time out by the lake.
Completion:Incomplete
Blaise lifted the mug of coffee he'd sneaked out with him to his lips and took a long sip, closing his eyes as the steam curled up and hit his face, warming it against the chill of the spring air. He drew back and let his arms drop down to hang out over his drawn up knees, the mug dangling from the fingers of his right hand whilst the left stroked the side, seeking out it's warmth. He thought of his grandfather's house and the way he'd sat out earlier in the year than this on the terrace looking out to the sea and not felt a hint of chill in the air. He thought of the years before when he'd sat out by the lake this close to the summer holidays, the dread of leaving lying low in his stomach, pushed down and away lest he think too long on it and forget it was something he was supposed to hide. It had never felt this cold though, and he wondered if he was imagining the chill raising the goose bumps along his arms beneath his cloak.
He drew the mug back to his mouth, lips mouthing at the lip of the cup as though he could draw all the heat from the drink just by breathing in the steam.
It wasn't that he was cold so much as numb. Blaise felt like he should feel different. More... more something.
Sad. Guilty. Jubilant. Relieved.
He wasn't sure what particular emotion fit, but he was sure he was supposed to be feeling one of them right now at least. Something more than the lost, slightly disconnected feeling permeating his bones and making the night air chillier than it was.
It certainly felt like everyone around him was.
Everyone busy, trying to repair, put things back together, grieve, celebrate, reconnect. Blaise watched them distantly, and thought maybe it was just that he was less of a part of this. He'd stayed out. Done his grieving for the only loss the war had really brought him earlier. Before the battle of last week. Before the fear of what You-Know-Who’s return had really sunk into the mass populace. He glossed over the fact that he had still to even visit Alex's grave. Dealt with. moved on. Wasn't as if they'd even been close or in touch when he'd died.
Sometimes though, sometimes he'd look at one of the students or helpers milling about the school and catch a look in their faces that made him wonder if maybe the numbness was not so unusual. Not so exclusive to him. And that maybe feeling lost and unsure where the future lay after such a world changing event did not make him that cold hearted after all.
Blaise thought perhaps he should get a book and read up on the area of psychology that dealt such events so as to better understand. He'd read a few before. Remembered glancing at a chapter that dealt with more personal life changing events, specifically looking at the transition students underwent when moving from their studies to the 'real world' for the first time. He’d thought it important to be prepared for how that change might affect him and those around him. Thinking on it now, Blaise thought that maybe the two circumstances weren't that different really. Definitely there were similarities on the stresses both would place on an individual even given that one was a little more extreme. The same uncertainty concerning where things went now.
Blaise cocked his head, his thoughts preoccupied on human behaviour as he watched the warm air from his drink mingle with the nights and turn into smoke, curling and leaping from the mug into the sky. Dragon's breath his grandpa had called it once when he'd visited him and his mother in Yorkshire at Blaise's third step-father's house. As a child, still unaware of the true nature of Dragon physiology and the lack of logic in the comparison when you brought science into the equation, Blaise had grinned and grasped at the whispered secret eagerly. As an adult, he frowned at the moment of innocence in vague disapproval - mild envy - and took another sip.
He’d stayed away from the other students for majority of the past week. Nothing new there. Wasn’t as if he’d ever been the most sociable of students even in less fraught times. But it was certainly easier to step back now, leave the others that had stayed in the castle to deal with their own grief and jubilation, and just watch, listen, see which way people were turning.
There’d been funerals. A few he should have gone to, and he supposed by now he should be used to them. Of all the students in the school he was the most prepared to deal with them. Should have been the most numb. But they brought up too many memories and worries. Left fear coiling low in his belly in a way that made him feel sick and ready to run. Blaise hated that they reduced him to that, hated the weakness the feeling brought with it. And it wasn’t as if he’d been close to those who’d died. Wasn’t as if they’d even feigned friendliness in most cases. It had been easier not to go. Save facing those feeling for the ones he couldn’t avoid, the ones that duty and position tied him into.
He’d sought McGonagall out after discovering the out come and Voldemort’s demise. Approached her in one of the brief periods where she was surrounded by fewer contemporaries and do-gooders. He’d watched for almost a full four hours before picking his moment, choosing it carefully so that attention was drawn away from her and his approach would be more likely to be overlooked by most. Asked what he could do to help in the same voice he’d always asked her about a pass for the Restricted Section. The memory of her seeming dismissal before the battle still flirting on the outskirts of his mind as she suggested an activity that was somewhat solitary and entirely suited to his preferences. Flared memories of conditions set before.
Blaise had spent the week slipping from room to room in the castle, repairing broken panes of glass, making note of the more damaged ones that would require more careful, advanced reconstruction like those almost entirely lost or the enchanted stained glass that lit up certain of Hogwarts’ rooms.
For the majority it kept him away from the main groups of students and adults working on restoring the castle and he was glad of the isolation and protection from having to deal with the confrontations and conversation that company would have threatened. Blaise had always liked the castle at Christmas best, when most of the students were gone and he didn’t have to worry quite as much who was watching and what questions were being asked of him.
Still, there were those confrontations that had been unavoidable. It would have been naïve to think he could have done the work without running into at least a few people, no matter how careful he was. For the most part on those occasions he slipped into his old demeanour, blank look, shoulders and back straight, haughty and easy to pass off as just another pompous git. Surprising how well it worked, how easily people judged, wrote off, ignored and left Blaise to work quietly, watching them out the corner of his eye as he mended another pane. But there had been moments when those whose paths crossed his had seemed to have a need that outweighed common sense and quick judgements.
Thursday he’d been working in some of the classrooms near Ravenclaw Tower and had run across a fourth year girl, sat at one of the desks holding a worn note book in her hand. Blaise had pulled up his walls, smug, dismissive glance constructed and directed to her as he passed, but she’d apparently been too preoccupied to notice it and interpret the warning correctly. Instead, Blaise had been forced into a twenty minutes of awkward hell as she opened her heart to him about an older brother that had died during the battle, thumbing the book the entire time as she wept. Thankfully though, that had been the only time someone had felt the need to open up to him.
Blaise looked out across the lake and watched as an owl swooped down skimming the surface. He relaxed the muscles in his face as the bird drew up and headed for the castle not him. He was certain news had reached South Africa and his mother of last week’s turn of events by now. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that she had so far deemed checking up on him unimportant. He wondered if she’d be disappointed that the Death Eater’s hadn’t seen him important enough to recruit rather than glad he’d managed to avoid both the attention and disapproval. He let out a low snort at the thought that was probably just crazy enough to be true and took another drink of his coffee, staring down into the cup and frowning lightly at the few inches of warm contentment that remained.