Chapter 17: Daphne the Drug Dealer

Blaise Zabini

Hogwarts, Great Britain

"I have good news and bad news," Madam Pomfrey said. We were in her office in the hospital wing, sharing a box of her favorite scones. Most students didn't make a habit of visiting the hospital wing; I'd managed five visits in as many weeks. I doubted I was setting a new record or anything, but I was now a familiar figure to the old matron. "Which would you prefer, Mr. Zabini?"

I shrugged with an easygoing smile. "What can I say, Madam Pomfrey? Call me an optimist."

"Very well, you can forgo your cane whenever you want. I'm sure you've noticed, but the shivers caused by dark magic residue should have stopped."

"You know, now that you mention it, it's been a few days since I've felt anything. Am… Am I cured?"

"No, not entirely. The absence of one symptom does not mean your body has completely recovered. It is a good sign that progress is being made, no more than that."

"Unfortunate… You know, I think I'll keep the cane," I said as I buttered a scone. I eyed the gaudy, golden cobra leaning against the chair next to me. It really did look like a pimp cane. What the hell was Valencia thinking? Still, I was of the opinion that it was always better to be underestimated. Besides, who knew when I'd need to club someone silly? Or maybe I ought to have it modified into a cane-sword in the future? "It's grown on me. It's a bit ostentatious but mother did get it for me."

"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug. "Far be it for me to question your tastes, however questionable they may be."

"Ouch. So that's the good news. What's the bad?"

"Has your sleep schedule improved at all?"

"Ah, a little…?" I said hesitantly. Today was the fifth of October and I'd moved into my new suite on the first. "I've been sleeping better, but that could just be because I have an entire suite to myself now."

"Ah, House Slytherin's monthly wager. Congratulations, I suppose. No change in the number of hours you need?"

"No, at least, none I've noticed. It's not like a minute or two makes that much of a difference."

"That lines up with what the scans show. With your body repaired, your magic will likely begin to repair and reinforce your magical core at an accelerated rate. I do not know when your sleep schedule will return to normal. However, it should be a gradual shift."

"That's great news. Why did you say that was a bad thing?"

"Because I'll expect you to attend your midnight astronomy class as soon as you're able," she said with a wry chuckle.

"Ah, shit."

"Language, Mr. Zabini."

"Does this mean I should intentionally sleep less than twelve hours? Maybe wean myself off of sleep until I have something resembling a normal sleep schedule?"

"Absolutely not. The fact that you need more sleep is evidence of your still-recovering magical core. Denying your own magic the time it requires sounds like an especially stupid way to see me more frequently," she admonished.

"Noted. Well, thank you for all this, Madam Pomfrey," I said earnestly. She 'd been nothing but fair to me, even going out of her way to set out snacks and tea on occasion. She really was the motherly type. Although, if I developed diabetes in the future from my newfound love of clotted cream, I now knew who to blame.

"Your thanks is appreciated. Now off with you. I'm sure you'd rather be enjoying your Saturday elsewhere."

I polished off my scone and bowed respectfully. I had my own suite. My body had fully recovered, even if my magic had yet to catch up. Things were looking up.

X

I loved my suite. I woke up practically drowning in a pile of plush blankets at seven in the morning, usually as my lovely owl flew in from a night terrorizing the local rodent population.

Minerva would offer me an affectionate nibble and drop what mail I received on my desk, far away from prying eyes. Usually, that was the Daily Prophet, a monthly subscription to the Quibbler, and letters written by students who wanted my help yet didn't want to be seen with me for whatever reason. Minerva would then take her well-earned rest before flying off back to the owlery to make sure none of her lesser cousins got any ideas while the queen was away.

While she did that, I took to my own daily routine. Each morning, for an hour, I practiced some of the meditation exercises recommended by Dario Zabini, my scary, assassin ancestor who may or may not have had shit going down with the Sicilian mafia. To Be as Nothing was a useful primer, but I wasn't entirely sure how effective my training was. I wouldn't know until I had someone to test myself against.

Still, I remained diligent. Even though I could not gauge my own progress, I had to admit, there was something soothing about the meditation exercises. They left me noticeably calmer and made me feel like I was starting each day on the right foot. Perhaps this was why people did yoga in the mornings?

I then asked myself my regular set of questions such as "Is anyone wishing me physical harm today?" and "Who is scheming to harm my position?" It wasn't perfect protection, divination just didn't work that way, not unless I somehow became truly omniscient, but it was a good start.

Already, my daily paranoia helped foil a second year's attempt to draw me into his sphere of influence. Granted, his attempt was to pay me to do something illegal and then hold it over my head, like every gang initiation ever, but it was nice to know my divination sessions were working.

Of course, I could not let that stand. To start, I had one of his roommates steal me a quill he used. I then used that as the jumping off point to scry his dealings and found that he worked with some upper years to smuggle contraband in and out of Hogwarts. He was the patsy upper years used so they could avoid criticism. Nothing illegal, more along the lines of firewhiskey than cursed artifacts, but that was a vulnerability I could hit.

I then found his associated owl. For several nights, Minerva patrolled outside the school perimeter, and more importantly, the school's wards. A week later and he was in hot water with the upper years; firewhiskey wasn't cheap and he'd failed to deliver for a start of term get-together he'd been asked to supply. If I so happened to have a few bottles of Ogden's finest in my trunk, well, that was surely just a coincidence.

Minerva received much bacon and headpats that week.

As for today, I already had a good idea of what to expect, which was why I wasn't surprised in the least when Terence Higgs, third year and seeker of our house quidditch team, called me over. He was a tall, brunette boy with hair gelled up to give him a windblown look. Next to him were two members of the Slytherin quidditch team, Miles Bletchley and Adrian Pucey. They were both chasers if I remembered right.

"Zabini, if it isn't our new seer," Adrian said. He was a fourth year who'd been on the team since his second year. From the whispers, Marcus Flint was captain by seniority but Adrian was his second, the one with actual charisma and something resembling leadership skills.

"Pucey. Good morning," I said neutrally. "What can I do for you?"

"You fucked us over," Terence accused. He'd never struck me as the patient sort and I was glad to be proven right. He would have been easier to deal with had he been alone. "You made Potter seeker."

"I did no such thing. I don't make my predictions come true, Higgs. I only answer the questions posed to me. Miss Malfoy asked how our first flying lesson would go and I answered her. I specifically advised her against acting rashly; some of you were there if I recall."

"You owe us, Zabini. Now Potter's even got a Nimbus 2000."

I remembered that. It was a big deal when it happened. I didn't know what possessed McGonagall to airdrop the broom into a landing strip of pancakes and muffins over breakfast, but she did.

"I have no control over what Professor McGonagall does with her finances, Higgs," I drawled. "I wish I did, but I don't. Really, you're giving me more credit than I deserve."

Miles socked his yearmate on the shoulder before he could say something else. "Sod off, Higgs. Forget about him, Zabini, he's upset Potter's a better flyer than him."

"Is she?" I asked, playing dumb. She was, of course, a natural on a broom. I knew her to be the better of dragons, and that with barely three years of experience under her belt. Someone like Terence, though far better than myself, didn't really compare.

"She's not!" Terence protested. He shoved Miles away with the point of his shoulder. "She's just a fucking firstie!"

"She is," Adrian said calmly. "We saw some of her practices. She's good, real good."

"It's just the bloody broom. Anyone could be that fast with a bloody Nimbus 2000."

I looked at the other two boys. The way they rolled their eyes told me that wasn't the case, nor was this the first time Terence argued such. "So? I assume you gentlemen want something from me?"

"Yeah, you owe me! My job just got harder because you couldn't well keep your trap shut!"

"I reject that notion," I replied icily. "I owe you nothing. If you truly want remuneration for Gryffindor acquiring a competent seeker, find Miss Malfoy. She was the one who commissioned my services, and also the one who promptly ignored my advice to do the contrary."

Miles snorted. "Like that'll happen. Higgs is terrified of Lord Malfoy."

"I'm not, you tosser."

"You are, but that's a perfectly reasonable stance to take," Adrian joined in. "More to the point, we'd like to hear from you. To start, can we win the cup this year?"

"You can." I didn't even hesitate. "I don't even need my ball for this so consider it a freebie. She's still inexperienced. Whatever talent she has, she's not so incredible as to be untouchable, yet."

Canonically, Gryffindor couldn't field a substitute seeker after Harry got himself hospitalized via Quirrell. Not having a seeker meant the opposing team could choose to end the game whenever they pleased so the loss was obvious.

I wasn't sure what I'd do about that whole encounter. My intention was to screw Quirrell of course, but whether I'd need her to play the gallant heroine had yet to be decided. Nonetheless, even if she never gets hospitalized in this timeline, it wasn't as though she was unbeatable on a broom, just unfairly talented.

"How do we guarantee that Higgs catches the snitch before Potter?"

"Get Higgs to train harder perhaps?"

"I train hard. I'd like to see you on a broom, Zabini," said boy muttered sullenly.

"I'm terrible on a broom," I agreed, "which is why I really don't care who wins the house cup. I'll be honest; I have very little interest in quidditch as a sport. I can't even name three professional players."

"Come on, have some house pride," Miles said.

"Pride is bad for business."

"Fine, I hear you," Adrian said. "What do you want for your help?"

I gave the three boys a once-over. They were purebloods, as most Slytherins were, but I wouldn't say they were important. They were Magical Britain's equivalent of upper-middle class, wealthy, but not to the point of mindless leisure like much of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or even my mother. I felt a little bad about thinking of teenage boys like vending machines, but that was the path of a merchant in the end.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Still, just because they lacked the resources of noble houses didn't mean they couldn't give me anything. After a minute, I came to a decision.

"One spell," I told them, "one spell, I demand of you. Whether it be a copy of a page from a book in your family library or an hour on a Saturday morning teaching me yourself, you must provide me with one spell. The caveat is that it must be a spell I've never heard of before. Not, a spell I cannot perform, but a spell I cannot recognize altogether."

"That seems excessive. You're asking for spells from our family libraries to help us win a school competition."

"Not necessarily. I'd greatly appreciate a spell from your family libraries, but this doesn't need to be the case. Any spell, no matter the difficulty, that I do not recognize will qualify. Household charms, defensive spells, curses, or even a prank jinx from the latest edition of Zonko's catalog if you prefer."

"How do we know you'll just say you recognize a spell when you don't?" Miles protested. "You could do that to get better spells off us."

I nodded at the fair question and offered them my most disarming smile. "Trust. You must trust that I am dealing with you in good faith, that the information I provide is accurate to the best of my Sight. By the same token, you'll just have to trust that I truly do recognize the spell you're offering me."

Adrian nodded slowly. "And if we can't even trust you to do that, then any information we receive from you would be similarly suspect. Clever."

"Hardly clever. My business is an advisory one. As a consultant, establishing a foundational level of trust between both parties is mandatory. I am not responsible for the actions you take or do not take, but I will endeavor to give you reliable information. If nothing else, I require a good, honest reputation for the sake of future business dealings."

This would likely result in me getting a lot of useless spells, but the cluttering of my personal spell library was something I'd have to live with. Given my ability to see mana directly, I was of the opinion that no spell was truly useless. With enough of a sample size, I ought to be able to manufacture my own spells, hopefully without blowing myself to kingdom come like Pandora Lovegood.

More than that, by leaving the exact price they paid up to them, I was pressuring them with choice: Would Zabini give me more help if I gave him a more useful spell? Could I convince him to actively take measures in my favor?

I had my own designs of course, but so long as they thought this way, they weren't likely to give me complete garbage.

"Fine, I'll give you a spell right now, from the fourth year textbook."

"Did you think I would set a price like this and not look through the Hogwarts curriculum? You'll have to try harder than that. Besides, we haven't agreed on a question you'd like me to answer yet."

"We did. Help us win the cup."

"Not specific enough," I said with a shrug. "For reference, Malfoy asked for information about a specific day. I told her then that I did indeed see a female figure riding a broom and chasing something golden."

"Then what good are you?" Terence huffed. The guy was really sore about being shown up by Violet. Not that I could blame him; he reminded me of a few guys in high school who were like that.

"I could tell you which chaser on their team is most likely to fly for points, who's going to relay passes, and who'll be running interference in any given game."

"And what if we asked for which side of the pitch the snitch will be flying in during the first thirty minutes of the game?" Adrian asked. He was the smart one of the group, the one who had more than two brain cells to rub together.

"Now you're getting it. Specific details, I can do. Complex commands like 'Win the cup for me?' That's too vague."

"That's good to know. You know what, Zabini? You and I have a deal."

I took his outstretched hand. Was I going to make Violet's life more difficult? Sure, marginally, but she'd have bigger worries than quidditch anyway.

Hell, even with quidditch, someone would be hexing her broom. Now that I thought about it, I ought to get on top of that…

X

I had a quick breakfast with the rest of my yearmates before ambling off by myself. I felt I'd put it off long enough. Now that the hustle and bustle of the first few weeks of school had died down, it was time to find the Room of Requirement.

That wasn't difficult. Climb to the seventh floor. Take a left. Find the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and his ballet-dancing trolls. Imagine what you want as you walk back and forth through the hall, and presto! Magic room.

No, the trick was to ask for what I wanted in such a way that replication from the outside was impossible. If anyone made the same request, they would be let inside and I fully intended for the Room to be my personal sanctum. Which meant it behooved me to be very specific with my request.

'I want to stand atop the flight deck of the HMS Queen Elizabeth,' I thought as I began making tracks.

I couldn't help the bark of delighted laughter that left my lips when I opened the door. The sea breeze assaulted me with its salty tang, an impossibility that was nonetheless present before me. The HMS Queen Elizabeth was the largest aircraft carrier commissioned by the British Royal Navy by the time of my death. From end to end, its flight deck was more than two hundred eighty meters long, something I only knew because one of my old colleagues I worked with was really into naval history.

The scene around me was perfect, not least because it confirmed something for me: The Room was able to read my mind, at least when it came to my desires as the space was being molded. Sure, it was ultimately just a really flat space that happened to look like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier, but that extra layer of specificity was important for protection.

Now, it should be impossible for anyone else to ask for this space specifically. Not only was a muggle aircraft carrier a foreign concept to the vast majority of wizards, the HMS Queen Elizabeth hadn't been commissioned yet. Never mind the launch ceremony, the ship wasn't even in its drafting phase at this time.

I planned to build on this space. Each time I returned, I'd request something like "I want the flight deck of HMS Queen Elizabeth, but with a coffee table and a lounge chair for me to relax in." After a while, it should become a sanctuary that defies easy description for anyone but myself.

I put all thoughts of an annoyingly complicated Room request out of mind and began to stretch. As things stood, precognition was the single most powerful tool in my arsenal. Already, I could avoid ambushes from the Weasley twins and had been doing so for several weeks now.

I couldn't maintain the Sight for long, but that would change in time. My ultimate goal was to have combat precognition comparable to the Color of Observation or the Omega InForce. I didn't just want to be a strong wizard; I wanted to be untouchable.

Which meant I wasn't allowed to be out of shape. One of the biggest weaknesses of a combat precog was their body's natural limits. Seeing a spell coming meant shit if you couldn't move away in time. Keeping up the Sight forever wouldn't save me if I exhausted myself running around like a headless chicken.

Now that Madam Pomfrey gave me a clean bill of health, I had no excuse to put this off. Physical conditioning wasn't my idea of a fun time, I was a librarian for fuck's sake, but the war I knew was coming was a good motivator.

And so my self-torture began.

X

"You look like shit," Tracey sassed as I slumped into the lunch table. I heard a few people cough awkwardly to stifle their laughter. Really, no one else in Slytherin was as crass as her.

The hall was emptier than usual. I could see that the majority of the badgers and lions were missing. There were more ravens and snakes around but with enough holes in our number to be noticeable. I had to think for a minute to remember why: Today was Hogsmeade weekend, the first Saturday of October.

I'd honestly forgotten because it wasn't as big a deal in this weird alternate universe. There was a Hogsmeade weekend on the first weekend of each month starting in October. And, since Hogwarts started at fourteen, first years were allowed to leave the castle as well. Not that many did. This being the first month, we didn't quite feel cooped up here.

There wasn't anything innately special about Hogsmeade after all. Unlike how the muggleborns might see things, to those who grew up in the magical world, Hogsmeade was… just a village. It was fine, no different than any other magical settlement. Old-Blaise had been there before and his opinion on the town was thoroughly lackluster. There was a main street that led from the train station; it was filled with a great selection of shops that I was admittedly curious about, but visiting them wasn't a priority or anything.

Evidently, Daphne and Tracey felt the same way. I shot the latter a tired glare and began to load my plate. "Thank you for noticing, Davis. I feel like shit too."

"Dare we ask what happened?" Daphne asked primly. "If you are being harassed by other houses, I think it would benefit us to know who to be cautious of."

"Nothing like that happened. Believe it or not, I did this to myself."

"Oh?"

"Don't mind it. I was just trying something on my own."

"Well scoot over because you reek of sweat," Tracey sniped.

I obliged, moving to the very end of the table. I was far too used to her insults by now. "Fine, but pass me those pork rolls."

We ate in relative silence, not companionable, but still more comfortable than it was a month ago. After I'd choked down my second pork roll, Daphne tapped a finger to the table to get my attention.

"Care to walk with me, Zabini?" she asked insistently. "There are some matters I'd like to discuss with you."

I looked at her, then back down at my nearly empty plate. Then, just to get on her nerves, I picked up another pork roll. "I'd be delighted with your company, Greengrass. However, I'm quite famished at the moment."

"We can wait," she said, in a tone that said she knew exactly what I was doing.

Were the meaningless power plays necessary? No. And yet, I couldn't help but want to tweak her nose, especially because Tracey wasn't nearly as good as her cousin at hiding her irritation.

Eventually, I finished gorging myself and stood. I felt like a new man. I hadn't bothered to calculate exactly how far I'd run in the Room of Requirement, but it was enough to give me a newfound appreciation for food.

X

"Have you considered what you want from me?" she asked after she led me inside an unused classroom. Tracey closed the door behind us and stood against the wall like the world's most adorable bouncer. "I loathe being indebted to others. Perhaps a spell you do not recognize?"

"Heh, heard about that, huh?"

"I did. It seems like a far more affordable price to pay than an unknown favor."

"They're them and you're you. Having them research niche spells for me is about as much use as I can expect to get from them. You though? You've got resources and connections worth leveraging."

"I'm flattered," she drawled. "Well?"

"I have, actually. A single vial of a potion of my choosing. That is your family business, yes?"

"Among other things, but I must object. While I acknowledge that your help has left me in a favorable position in the house, 'any potion' is far too lenient for me to allow," she said, in full business mode now. It still took me aback how quickly she could switch between a largely normal teenage girl and the heiress to a vast fortune on a dime.

I hummed in agreement. I'd never expected her to agree to it. My help wasn't worth a felix felicis in the first place, even if she could somehow convince her father to mail me one. As heiress, her reach was limited and she wouldn't want to promise something she might not be able to deliver. "Fair enough. Then let's negotiate, you and I. It strikes me that some of my plans would be made easier if I had ready access to well-made potions."

"It would help to know what exactly those plans were," she probed. "I am confident I can source most potions, but your advice isn't quite that valuable. I am willing to provide you with a vial of any potion equal to or below the value of fifteen galleons."

"Denied. Monetary worth is a terrible way to gauge the value of a potion. If money was all that mattered, I could simply purchase it myself. How about this? You acquire for me a potion that does not require a master's certification to brew."

"That's not fair either, Zabini. Don't take me for a fool. You know how hard it is to acquire a mastery. Only excluding potions that require a master is like saying any spell but the Unforgivables.' That's too broad."

"Then what would you suggest?"

"OWL-level. I can procure any potion up to the OWL-level."

"NEWT-level. Anything taught in the Hogwarts curriculum sounds like a fair compromise."

"Some of those NEWT-level potions can be dreadfully expensive," she said leadingly. "Not that I could not afford one of course, but I am ultimately held accountable by my lord father."

I nodded. That was a fair concern. It'd be really weird if Lord Greengrass didn't take any interest in his daughter's life. She hadn't dismissed my offer out of hand, which meant she thought she could talk her father around but wanted something more for the hassle. "Fine, I could be convinced to answer a question for you in addition to the service I've already provided."

"Excellent. Runcorn. How do I win her over?"

"Have you tried asking her to be your friend?" I asked with an innocent smile. Alice Runcorn was a very tall girl, the tallest student in our batch, and maybe among the second years as well. Old-Blaise remembered her as something of a wallflower, self-conscious about her height that left her a full head above even some boys.

"It's not that simple," she said. Her expression betrayed nothing but the way her eyes flickered briefly to Tracey said everything I needed to hear. I didn't know how Alice felt about half-bloods, but her family's stance was relatively well known.

"You understand that any information I provide won't make her more tolerant of your cousin?"

"I do. I want leverage. The carrot would be nice, but if I need the stick, then so be it."

"Why do you want to win her over anyway?"

"You know why. Bulstrode follows Malfoy like a puppy, so does Parkinson. Nott thinks he's clever but Crabbe and Goyle would drop him the moment Malfoy even remotely mentions her father. And you… You're neutral."

"That I am."

"I need a faction of my own if I don't want the rest of my time at Hogwarts to be a living hell."

I acquiesced. "Overly dramatic perhaps, but you do have a point. Fair enough. I'm going to need something of hers if you'd like me to scry her specifically."

"Like what?"

"A possession, a lock of hair, fingernails, blood, or any other bodily fluid would do for that matter. I need something to focus my Sight on."

"I'll see what I can do. And the potion you want?"

"The Draught of Living Death," I said simply. "It's a sixth year potion."

"It is," she said hesitantly, "but its uses are…"

"Are for me to consider. You just need to find me a vial. Of course, I expect you to be discreet."

"I owe you nothing after this."

"Agreed. In fact, I owe you information on Runcorn."

She held out a hand. "Then we have a deal. A pleasure doing business with you, Zabini."

"Likewise. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'd like a shower."

Author's Note

Brought to you as a part of a bet with Azayel. You deserve this chapter for that game. That Lux had the single worst aim I've ever seen… and I'm fucking blind.

Minerva is a very big bird. Eagle owls are unexpectedly territorial as far as owls go. Yes, she mugged someone else's owl out of Hogwarts grounds.

For some reason, the draught of living death is a potion you brew in the Hogwarts curriculum, as if the potion that instantly and semi-permanently induces a coma is knowledge any graduate should know how to make. Weird, but I'm not questioning it.

Before anyone asks, as far as I'm concerned, Pandora's already dead. I don't know exactly when she died, but I decided against having Blaise send her a mysterious letter to prevent her accident. I like Luna, but also, fuck her.

Blaise is exactly the kind of little shit who'd use future knowledge to ask the Room for something that doesn't presently exist just so he could have his private clubhouse.

Animal fact: Pufferfish, some of which is served in sushi restaurants as fugu, is incredibly toxic. More specifically, they possess a type of bacteria that produces tetrodotoxin, which inevitably kills roughly six people per year.

There are more than 120 species of pufferfish in the world, but the torafugu, or tiger pufferfish, is the most sought after as a delicacy. Humans being humans, it shouldn't come as a surprise that the torafugu is also the most poisonous.

On an unrelated note, pufferfish teeth, sometimes called beaks, do not stop growing similar to rodents. This is because they prefer shellfish like crabs and mussels.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.