A different perspective

My emerald monstrosity of a trunk hit the clattering overhead carriage with a resounding thump. It wasn't hideous, I supposed, for a Slytherin trunk. Gleaming silver accents tried to soften the blow of the overpowering green. Draco, ever the devoted Slytherin, had meticulously adhered to the house aesthetics. The gleaming silver complemented the emerald beautifully and a faint gleam hinted at a weight-reducing charm – a feature I wouldn't be foolish enough to disparage.

Goyle, bless his simple heart, hoisted the behemoth with a grunt born of years of similar struggles. Crabbe, the ever-present shadow, secured the straps with practiced efficiency, a silent testament to their countless repetitions. Subtlety wasn't necessarily their strong suit, but their loyalty to me was an unspoken language I was fluent in by now.

They settled into their usual spots, their presence more about physical bulk than actual presence.

The Hogwarts Express felt as familiar as ever, its rhythmic clatter a comforting backdrop to our journey.

One thing was different though. Blaise. He slouched by the window, his vacant stare suggesting he hadn't even noticed us enter. His trademark smirk was absent, his eyes—usually alight with mischievous amusement—were dull, hollowed out by a grief deeper than a lost summer. It was a look I recognized all too well. Blaise Zabini had come to understand the harsh finality of death.

There was no blink of the eye and no fitful sleep that would erase the fact that his mother was dead.

He looked lost, adrift in sorrow.

Raised by a mother who wielded an iron fist encased in velvet, Blaise had been groomed for ruthless ambition. 

Independence was a lesson spoken, control the undercurrent. "A snake sheds its skin, Blaise," her voice, a silken purr, would slither,  "but it never forgets its fangs." He'd been molded for cunning. His desires subtly shaped to mirror hers. Every decision a dance, a negotiation where his wants were nudged, sculpted, until they became one with hers.

It became who he was – a boy raised by his mother. Manipulative, always armed with a cutting remark and a maddening smirk.

Blaise loved his mother. He particularly liked how she played the game. He thrived under her tutelage, becoming an adept student of the game she played so well. But now, grief had stripped away the veneer. The finality of death had etched its mark, leaving him hollow, haunted, and lost. It wasn't his fault. Somewhere along the lines blurred. Her guidance became control, his ambition a reflection of hers. He sought her counsel on everything, a habit so ingrained that even now, in her absence, he felt adrift, unmoored.

Narcissa's well-meaning attempts to fill the void for the son of her late friend if anything was a constant reminder of the gaping hole her absence tore open. She'd even entrusted me, of all people, to "keep an eye" on him. Bizarre, really.

Still, in a way, it was jarring. The Blaise I remembered was a master of snark. His sarcasm a weapon more potent than a bludger. But now, the weapon lay rusting, its wielder a hollow shell. No, this wasn't him at all.

"Planning on moping all the way to Hogwarts, Zabini?"

He blinked, as if coming out of a fog. "Malfoy?" he rasped, his voice laden with something akin to surprise.

"Who else?" I drawled.

"You look… different." There was a flicker of something in his sunken eyes, an attempt to piece together the changes before him.

"Probably the new hair," I deflected, gesturing vaguely at the stubble dusting my chin.

The shift in charisma was undeniably evident, the essence of the incubus only stacking to it. My hair held a new sheen, almost unnatural in its brilliance. My skin felt different, smoother somehow. Even the way I carried myself seemed effortless. 

Every movement bordering on artistic. A hint of stubble traced my jaw, pushing my body even closer to its perfect form. I'd tried explaining the newfound attractiveness to my mother, attributing it to puberty and some spells that Fleur taught me but I knew she wasn't entirely convinced. She held her tongue, though, and that was enough.

"So, are you?" I pressed.

"What? Am I what?" He asked, confused.

"Are you gonna keep moping like a troll?"

He flinched, a flicker of anger igniting in his sunken eyes. "Malfoy," he rasped warningly.

"C'mon. You should be happy. At least no one is gonna be needling you anymore about a new father. Who knows with the way things were going, even professor Snape could have gotten a turn."

That seemed to be spark that ignited it.

Blaise lunged forward with a roar of anger, a sound that tore through the stunned silence of the compartment. It wasn't a practical move but a desperate lunge fueled by grief and perhaps a simmering resentment that had been bubbling beneath the surface for weeks.

Crabbe and Goyle shot up, trying to intervene, but I gave them a curt signal to stop

I sidestepped his wild swing, standing while he stumbled forward, momentum carrying him past me into the seats and bumping against the luggage rack. I could have capitalized, landed a clean blow, but the thought was abhorrent. This wasn't a soldier, I reminded myself, just a boy. A boy I needed upset.

Blaise spun on his heel, eyes blazing. Gone was the hollow shell, replaced by a storm of raw emotion. He launched himself at me again, this time with a low tackle aimed at my legs.

I let him. We fell to the floor and I guarded my head from punch after punch.

I braced myself for the onslaught. Blaise's blows rained down, fueled more by fury than technique. They were weak, sloppy, telegraphed by the tense muscles in his shoulders and the desperate glint in his eyes. I could have easily blocked them all, my reflexes heightened and movements more fluid than ever before. But blocking felt wrong. This was penance in a way.

Instead, I wrestled my arms between his, feeling the surprising strength of raw emotion fueling his attack. That was another thing I noticed. Unequipped, the enhanced strength of the race change to succubus was negated. A 35 strength as a wizard wasn't the same as a 35 as a succubi. Same for other stats too like Endurance, agility.

That didn't stop him. A grunt escaped my lips as he headbutted me. Immediately, the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. The unmistakable warmth spreading down my chin.

Letting that slip through was deliberate, a calculated risk. A constructed vulnerability. I felt the sickening crunch of cartilage against bone as my nose exploded in an alarm of pain and crimson glory.

The snap and color of blood seemed to shock him of his frenzy. He paused, horror and regret flickering across his face as he saw the blood. "Draco, I…" he stammered, his voice thick with remorse.

Shame flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a flicker of concern as he saw the blood trickling down my chin.

"Draco, I..." he stammered, his voice raw with regret. 

"It's alright," I mumbled, my voice thick with a pain that wasn't so feigned. "Get off me, you overgrown ferret."

Blaise staggered back, collapsing against the compartment wall. His chest heaved, and I watched from the floor as the storm within him subsided, leaving only wreckage in its wake. Despite the situation, a flicker of my old Blaise peeked through. "Overgrown ferret? Me?" He managed a weak scoff, a hint of his former smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Yes," I rasped, wiping the blood from my chin with the back of my hand.  "Now, are you done throwing a tantrum, or do I need to call Crabbe and Goyle to restrain you?"

There was a long silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the train. Blaise stared at me, his face a mixture of shame, anger, and a hesitant flicker of something akin to gratitude.

Finally, Blaise spoke, his voice hoarse. "No," he said, with a grimace. "No, I think I'm good."

Blaise's voice, rough scraped against the tense silence. "You goaded me, Malfoy. Why?"

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Why? Because you needed a jolt, Zabini. Frankly, your face was starting to look like Weasley's during Potions class. I mean you're already hard to look at. If you continued like that, you definitely won't get any girls."

A flicker of his old life sparked in Blaise's eyes. A genuine, full-bodied laugh ripped from his throat, the sound echoing through the compartment like the forgotten melody of a once-familiar song. It was a laugh that seemed to come from a place deeper than amusement, a release of pent-up grief and despair. I allowed it to wash over, bittersweet.

When the laughter subsided, leaving behind a trail of glistening tears on Blaise's cheeks, I pretended not to notice. 

I lay back, my throbbing nose making breathing a chore.

"We both know the only girl who could ever love your ugly mug, Malfoy, is Pansy. And we both know how you feel about her." said Blaise.

"Ouch. Right in the chest. I'll have you know that Pansy is a good friend of mine."

"That's the problem. She doesn't want to remain friends. I wonder what she's gonna gift you this semester some diamond or maybe a dagger like last time." Blaise countered.

I hummed at that. I liked that dagger. The gift was a polished dagger with words carved from ruby on its helm. Curved with its blade more of a twirl. It seemed almost too beautiful to be a normal dagger but it was. Pansy had gotten it for Draco because he said he wanted a dagger. Draco had liked it because he thought it looked cool. He wasn't wrong, with its serrated edges and sleek curve. The blade certainly looked cool. But when I saw the blade, I understood. It was a ritual knife. The dagger had been modified to inflict pain. To prolong suffering. It was telling the kind of things the Pankinsons had in their manor.

"You heartless piece of shit. If a girl gave me diamonds, I would at least consider her."

"It's just so hard to be impressed by diamonds when I deserve wars fought for me." Airy. Luna-like

He burst out laughing again, a belly aching laugh

"You've definitely changed Malfoy. his voice a mix of caution and something other. "I don't know if it's for the better or worse, but you've certainly changed

I hummed. "I had an okay holiday I guess."

The flicker of mischief that passed between us was familiar, comforting. A reminder of what friendship could be.

"Well I'm glad one of us did." Blaise's laughter had faded, leaving behind a fragile silence punctuated only by the rhythmic clatter of the train. 

"Grief is a fickle beast, Blaise," I began, voice low and silken,"It can drown you, or it can be channeled."

I shifted, wincing slightly as my back protested the fall. "Your mother wouldn't want you to wallow, would she?" 

Blaise flinched, his eyes hardening. "Don't speak of her," he growled, the vulnerability momentarily forgotten.

"No. I'm going to talk and you're going to listen" I barked

He was taken aback, his eyes widening in surprise

"You know I was there, right? At the Quidditch World Cup. I was in the minister's box with my family and your mother when it started. Father swears that it wasn't him. That none of the old crowd is responsible."

"You must think I'm foolish Malfoy. The Dark Mark once more revealed to the whole world and you're telling me that none of the old crowd is responsible. If there's even a chance your fath—" Zabini burst out.

"If there's even a chance my father killed your mother, I'll kill him myself," I interrupted him.The words were bitter ash on my tongue. But the flicker of a vengeful ember igniting in Blaise's eyes was all the validation that I was on the right track.

"Don't forget that your mother was practically family. We will find who killed her. I can't offer you much, but I can offer you that. Revenge. More than just revenge, We will make an example of whomever. Everyone will know you, everyone will know what it means to mess with House Zabini, everyone will know what it means to have the wrath of Blaise Zabini befall them. You, my friend Zabini, will be secure..." I trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the dead silence that followed. The storm continued, sounding like the drum of the gods against our cabin window 

Blaise stared at me, his breath coming in shallow bursts, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. It took a while before he spoke. "What you are describing doesn't sound like revenge so much as power?" he finished, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

A slow, predatory smile spread across my face. "Perhaps. If that is what is required. Then yes. Power to protect yourself from ever feeling this helpless again. Power to ensure something like this never happens to someone you care about. Power to ensure control."

Blaise's gaze locked onto mine, his jaw tightening. "What exactly are you suggesting, Draco?"

"A partnership," I replied smoothly, the words rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. "There is strength in numbers, Blaise Together, we can achieve what others deem impossible. The world is changing, Blaise. We need to be ahead of it, not trailing behind. The old crowd's methods have become outdated. I mean you just lost your mother to a damn death eater attack and now The House of Zabini its down to its last member. That doesn't seem particularly rewarding to you, does it?

"The Dark Lord's methods may have been effective once upon a time but now they are outdated. What I'm offering is a chance to be welcome to something new, to be at the forefront of a new era."

He narrowed his eyes, suspicion mingling with curiosity. " And who would be at the forefront of this….new era."

"Who better than us Blaise." I said, leaning forward. "We leverage what we have; Our intelligence, our connections, our ability to maneuver in ways others can't. We don't just follow the old paths blindly. We forge new ones. We use the lessons we've learned, but we adapt, evolve."

Blaise remained silent, processing my words. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, the spark of interest kindling in his eyes. He was weighing his options, considering the possibilities.

"What about loyalty?" he asked finally, his voice measured. "To the Dark Lord, to our families, to your father?

"Our loyalty is to ourselves first," I replied firmly. "To our own survival, our own powe. We ensure our own strength in the process. We make ourselves indispensable. Indisposable."

A slow nod from Blaise. "And what's in it for you, Malfoy? Why do you need me?"

"Because I can't do it alone," I admitted, my voice sincere. "We need each other, Blaise. Your cunning, your resourcefulness, combined with my strategy and influence. You're Lord Zabini. While I'm still heir, I'd remind you that I am heir to two great houses. We'd have considerable weight to our alliance."

Blaise leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased as he considered my offer. "Alright, Draco. I'm in. But know this: if you betray me, there will be consequences."

"Likewise," I replied, a smirk playing on my lips. "But I don't plan on betrayal. I plan on success. And vengeance. For both of us."

The words were bitter ash on my tongue, a constant reminder of the monstrous lie Iperpetuated. But the flicker of a vengeful ember igniting in Blaise's eyes was all the validation Draco craved.

And so I offered my condolences, to the boy I made an orphan.