Chapter 20: Smoke and Mirrors

Blaise Zabini

Hogwarts, Great Britain

The defense classroom quieted down as Professor Quirrell called for attention. He was practically impossible to take notes for, what with his incessant stuttering, but he did more or less follow the curriculum outlined by the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

Outside of his stuttering, there was no attempt to “sabotage the next generation” or somesuch nonsense because that would imply that Voldemort considered anyone short of Dumbledore a threat. Judging by what I knew of canon, that adherence to the established curriculum would likely change next year when Lockhart did his level best to teach us about why lavender was the superior choice of color for dress robes.

“W-We will be pra-practicing the fumos cha-charm t-today,” Quirrel said.

I let out a sigh and zoned him out in favor of trudging to the front of the class. Practicals were practicals, his “speech impediment” aside. And, to be fair, the smokescreen charm was one I was eager to learn.

Our setup wasn’t unlike the one in charms. Only four students were allowed to cast the spell each round so as to avoid flooding the room, after which Quirrell vanished the smoke with some feigned difficulty.

When it was my turn, I stood with Alice, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan. The wand movements were simple, just a clockwise spiral from the inside out.

I felt my magic stir. There was something about this charm that agreed with me, for lack of a better phrase. Most other spells, like flipendo, required a few tries for me to get them down. My wand was at its best in the schools of divination and legilimency. I'd usually taken to observing the way magic flowed in my classmates to replicate the spells, but this charm in particular resonated with me.

Professor Flitwick liked to say that mindset was just as important as the right wand motions or incantations. In that case, what did my magic say about me? That I was a shady bastard? Or that I’d prefer to hide or mislead rather than confront others directly?

I let out a snort as a plume of smoke erupted from my wand and formed a thick cloud around me that obscured the class. It wasn’t wrong; I really didn’t see myself as a confrontational person. More to the point, the smoke cloud was comforting almost, I was quite literally blanketed by my own magic after all.

“B-Bravo, M-Mr. Zabi-ini,” Quirrell said as he vanished my shelter. Beneath the facade, he had a curious look in his eyes that made my spine crawl. “T-ten points to S-Slytherin. D-Do stay after c-class, won’t you?”

I sighed. Perhaps I ought to have curbed my enthusiasm, even if this was the first charm that really stood out to me. Then maybe he wouldn’t have had the excuse to call me in.

No, that didn’t matter. Quirrell was a professor; he’d find a way to call me into his office one way or another. If anything, it would be better to get this over with.

I knew what he wanted: the philosopher’s stone. I’d made no secret of my abilities so it was obvious he’d approach me eventually.

X

I couldn’t say I felt perfectly calm as I packed my bags. I remained even as every instinct said I ought to bolt for the door. The Dark Lord’s interest wasn’t good for my health.

And yet, good sense told me to remain. I’d made my decision to broadcast my abilities so this was inevitable. No, even had I hidden, such anonymity would not last. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I felt it in my bones. As with Snape, the trick was to meet Voldemort on my terms.

“You wanted to see me, professor?” I asked, voice steady with a confidence I did not truly feel. I was nervous; my heart hammered in my ears. This conversation would set the tone for how I dealt with Voldemort. Or rather, how he dealt with me. “I do have transfiguration after this.”

“S-So y-you do,” Quirrell said. “T-This w-won’t take long. I-I must admit t-to s-s-some curio-osity c-concerning your i-innate talents.”

“You mean as a seer of course. Alas, professor, I must insist that I am a businessman. If you have a question for me, I require something of equal worth in payment, even for faculty.”

“N-Not at all, Mr. Z-Zabini. R-Rather, I was concerned ab-about a-any i-infringements up-upon aca-academic integrity.”

“You believe I am cheating for others?” I drew myself up to look him in the eyes. “If I am being accused of cheating, I must insist that Professor Snape be brought into the discussion as my head of house.”

He looked anxious at the mention of my head of house. If I didn't know better, I might have even believed him. “T-That’s not it. N-No ac-accusations are being m-made, but y-you can see w-why w-we m-might be concerned.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. There was no “we” here because it was effectively impossible to prove I was using divination to cheat. Quirrell was using this avenue of inquiry to figure out what my divination could and couldn’t discern.

“Of course, professor. I can see where you’re coming from,” I said, playing along with this farce. “What can I do to ease your worries.”

“Well, h-how about w-we d-discuss s-some of those com-ommissions?”

I nodded and began to talk. I wasn’t terribly concerned with legilimency, at least not in this situation. The incantation could be skipped, as could the wand movement, but only by the greatest of masters. And, no matter what, eye contact was absolutely necessary. It had something to do with the eyes being our “windows to the soul.” As it turned out, that was a little more literal among magicals.

Voldemort was severely weakened, facing the other way, and his face was covered. More to the point, Quirrell wasn’t any more magically powerful than he was before he became possessed, at least as far as I knew. Unless he was a master comparable to Voldemort or Dumbledore independent of the possession, he would need to draw his wand to read my mind.

“Of course, though I suspect they’d bore you. As it turns out, even Hogwarts is a school first and foremost. I’ve helped an upperclassman find a hair clip that her grandmother lent her. It turned out that a jealous girl in her dorm stole it,” I rambled. “Oh, and I also found out that my classmate’s kneazle prefers chicken over tuna. I mean, I don’t see why that’s important seeing how kneazles can eat both just fine, but I made money off that so who cares?”

“Y-Yes, w-what else, M-Mr. Zabini?”

I made a show of letting my head drop to the desk with a dull thump. The exasperation wasn't entirely feigned. “You wouldn’t believe one of my other classmates, professor. He’s got a giant crush on Malfoy and it’s frankly obnoxious. I mean, yeah, I’m getting paid, but there are only so many times I can answer questions about Malfoy’s favorite color or food or fashion magazine before I want to pull my hair out.”

I rambled. I bitched and moaned like only a fourteen year old boy could. I whined about every stupid question I’d been asked to date. It was honestly kind of fun.

Until, finally, even Quirrell couldn’t pretend to be interested. He interrupted me with a stuttering cough. “T-That will b-be enough, Mr. Z-Zabini. I-I see th-that y-you a-are un-uninterested in pro-providing a-academic ass-assistance to y-your cl-classmates.”

“Of course not, professor. I have a vested interest in making sure I stand head and shoulders above the crowd,” I sniffed pridefully. “Why would I help others compete with me?”

“H-Have y-you seen a-any un-unusual happenings i-in the c-castle? A-As the defense pro-professor, I-I am v-very sec-security m-minded, you see.”

“Of course, I understand. Hmm… Unusual… Oh, the twins have it out for me. I think they’ve gotten it into their heads that a seer is the greatest challenge for their pranking skills. I’ve evaded all of their attempts so far.”

“Y-Yes, y-your ri-rivalry i-is quite w-well known. How ab-about the th-third floor?”

“The third floor corridor? Professor Dumbledore said we’d die painful deaths if we went in,” I said incredulously. “Professor, I am a Slytherin, not some hotheaded Gryffindor. If the headmaster wants to keep something secret, I have no interest in prying. I suspect such secrets would be rather hazardous to my health.”

“Q-Quite right. A-As the d-defense -ag-against the dark a-arts pro-professor, I w-wished to be c-certain of y-your d-discretion,” he said. But I could see him studying me carefully.

“Understandable, professor. For what it’s worth, I promise not to seek whatever is in the third floor corridor. I am convinced that whatever I might gain from my endeavors is not worth the risk, both physical and the ire of the headmaster,” I said with a dry chuckle. I grabbed my bookbag and slung it over my shoulder. “I do believe I’ll be late to transfiguration if I tarry much longer. May I be dismissed, professor?”

“Y-Yes, you may, M-Mr. Z-Zabini,” he said, waving me off. I could feel his gaze on my back as I walked away, studying me.

He was probably trying to figure out a way to goad me into peeking inside the box for him. Of course, as a professor, he couldn’t rightly ask that I scry the corridor for him, certainly not without raising suspicions, but I doubted that’d fully discourage him. I would have to be mindful of any plans involving my person.

I was playing the fool, a money-grubbing Slytherin stereotype who thought himself cleverer than he actually was. Theodore, in other words. The goal wasn’t to take his attention from me, though it’d be great if that happened. No, the goal was to get him to underestimate me while I firmed my position.

I couldn’t believe it. I was officially looking forward to Lockhart. Hell, perhaps I’d even avoid ruining his life for a while. At least he was stupid-stupid instead of stupid-evil.

X

That evening, I sat atop the owlery, best bird in my lap. Dinner with my housemates was overrated anyway. Why would I want their company when I could dine with the queen of the roost?

I took a bite of my toad in the hole, British-speak for sausage baked inside Yorkshire pudding batter. I wasn’t a big fan of the dish normally, it was basically just carbs and salt, but there was something about seeing the sunset from the owlery that whet my appetite. Or maybe, the house elves were just that good at cooking.

Speaking of, my favorite kitchen elf popped into the room and placed a big, fat rat several feet away.

“Hello, Tubby. Did you bring a rat for Minerva?”

“Yes, Mr. Blazey,” he said with a toothy grin. “Tubby and the other elves be doing as Mr. Blazey asked when wes done with the chores.”

I nodded in satisfaction. I’d asked him to pick up any dead vermin, rats especially, and deliver them to Minerva in the evenings like this. After all, Minerva was a big bird. And whatever she didn’t finish, she could dole out to the lesser owls as a generous queen ought.

“I’m glad. Thank you for your hard work, Tubby,” I said with a smile. Really, house elves were so damn helpful that it was impossible to dislike them. I let Minerva free from my lap so she could hop to her own food. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

He gasped audibly. “Mr. Blazey would eat with Tubby?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

“Tubby is Mr. Blazey’s friend???”

I let out an internal sigh and left him to his gratitude-induced freakout. One of these days, I’d meet an elf who didn’t react like an Oliver Twist orphan who just found a pound sterling whenever he received anything resembling positive attention.

Strange creatures, elves. Nice, but strange.

After dinner, I spent some time in the Room of Requirement, doing my best to improve my agility. The Room assisted by creating little obstacle courses and ankle-deep pitfalls for me. Then, to train my Sight further, I cast fumos, blanketing the deck of the HMS Queen Elizabeth in a thick layer of smoke.

One of these days, I’d be able to keep up my Sight and dance through a hail of spells blindfolded. Until that day, I’d have to live with rolled ankles.

X

I walked into potions class the next day and took a seat by Violet. Ever since that first Q&A session with Professor Snape, he’d taken an inordinate amount of interest in us. Our relationship probably had little resemblance to his and Lily’s , even before he took a giant shit on it, but Violet’s blood and our houses were enough to draw his eye.

“Hey, Zabini, got any ominous prophecies for me?” she muttered.

“About potions? No, Longbottom will not accidentally kill us all today,” I replied dryly.

“He’s not that bad,” she said a little defensively. I was glad, Neville was a great bloke and he could use more friends.

“He’s really not,” I agreed. He wasn’t eleven years old for one. He hadn’t done anything truly explosive since the mishap with the porcupine quills at the start of term. “He’ll forever get shit for being the kid who melted his cauldron in his first class though.”

“You’re a right tosser, you know that?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m quite proud of it, thanks.”

“Of course you are.”

Snape then swooped in. A foul-smelling trough floating behind him. He glowered at us like we were collectively worth less than the muck between his toes. “I must admit to being moderately surprised at your ability to arrive punctually for class.”

“Is he ever less of a dick?” Violet whispered under her breath. I snorted a laugh that I quickly turned into a cough.

“Seeing how a few dunderheads almost managed to create an airborne poison last class due to the mishandling of ingredients, I have decided to put the curriculum on pause in favor of a unit on ingredient preparation.” He grinned cruelly as he gestured towards the trough. He didn’t say it, but it was clear this was meant to be some form of collective punishment. “We will begin with flobberworms and their mucus extract. Nott, what is flobberworm mucus used for?”

Theo, already straight in his seat, somehow sat straighter, as if a rod of steel had been jammed into his spine. “A-Ah, flobberworm mucus is used to thicken potions, professor.”

“Correct. Five points to Slytherin. You are each required to present a pint of flobberworm mucus by the end of class. Well? What are you waiting for? Form a line.”

The students moved sluggishly, no one particularly eager. Already, the smell of the trough filled the dungeon. The smell was pungent, like moldy onions and lemons crossed with a litter box that hadn’t been cleaned in months.

Violet and I took off our outer robes and got in line. Without her ankle-length robes, I noticed she had a single black and red sock that ran up to her left mid-thigh. It went well with her red and gold tie. Even the stud in her earlobe had been exchanged for a matching red quartz.

“Bloody hell, what did we do to deserve this?” I heard Ron grumble, not nearly quiet enough.

“I’m pretty sure someone in Hufflepuff did something,” Lavender answered. “Hannah said something but I wasn’t listening then.”

“Ugh, gross.”

At the front, I saw that the trough was filled to bursting with flobberworms, cabbages, and heads of lettuce. The vegetables were half-eaten, with some obviously starting to get mushy.

“Ugh, any advice, Zabini?” Violet groaned as she tied her hair into a ponytail.

“Not really, just get it over with,” I told her. Putting deeds to words, I reached in and grabbed the fattest one I could find. Grabbing the worm was a little like touching a water balloon filled with hair gel instead of water. Its mucus was thick and slimy but I managed. “Not everything about magic is pleasant.”

“A-Are some of these dead?”

“Looks like it. Flobberworms are prone to overeating, sometimes to literal bursting. Give them a good squeeze before you pick them up. If they twitch or try to squirm away, they’re good.”

“Ewww…”

“Just think of them as jelly donuts.”

“I thought your Sight was supposed to warn you of these things.”

“Dangers, Potter. Flobberworms aren’t exactly going to harm me.”

“They’re harmful to my nose,” she whined as she gingerly reached inside.

We headed back to our seats and began the disgusting task of milking giant worms. Some of the larger ones were as long as our forearms, making them truly uncomfortable to look at.

Violet put one down on the middle of her cutting board and jabbed it with a knife. “You know, looking at it individually like this, it’s almost cute, in a disgustingly hideous sort of way.”

“I’m sure it’s delighted to hear that,” I quipped back.

“Eh, I’m used to it now. How are we supposed to do this?”

“Get the mucus into the jar. It’s not that complicated.”

“Alright, then you do it, genius.”

“Alright, watch.” I rolled up my sleeves and obliged. I began by taking out a hand towel and wrapping my own flobberworm like a burrito. I then folded it in half and cut off both ends, effectively creating two, hollow tubes. “Flobberworms have two heads and can eat from either end. They have little plates in their gullets that scrape at the cabbages. Cut those off first.”

I then held it over my jar and began to twist, wringing out the mucus. The viscous liquid quickly soaked through the hand towel, but the fabric kept it from splattering all over me. The mucus, under pressure and with two convenient nozzles to leave from, dripped into the jar.

“There,” I told her as I unwrapped my now wrung dry flobberworm. I reached for another. “Easy, right?”

“You know, it kinda looks like you’re milking a cow,” Violet said with a giggle. She took out her own towel to copy me. “Good with your hands, are you, Zabini?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. You have a future on a dairy farm if all your hocus pocus nonsense doesn’t pan out for you.”

Before I could retort, Snape cut in from behind us. “That will be ten points from Gryffindor for your crass humor, Potter. And ten points to Slytherin for instructing your duller classmate.”

“Ugh, git,” Violet grumbled under her breath once he walked away. “Your head of house is such a prick, you know that?”

“I do. He does too actually. I’m pretty sure he derives pleasure from making students miserable.”

“Why is he a teacher again?”

I shrugged helplessly. “Who knows?”

“You. You do. You’re supposed to know everything.”

“I know about the time you locked your cousin in a zoo exhibit.”

“Heh, good times… Wait, how do you-”

“You're like Big Ben in the London fog, remember?”

“I know you think you're answering my questions, but you're really not.”

“I enjoy your frustration,” I replied with a smug grin.

“Ugh, bloody seers.”

After we turned in our pints, Professor Snape had us dice the wrung out flobberworms into flat medallions. Lacking most of the mucus, they were now shriveled and flat, with a rubbery texture that made the simple task a challenge.

“I have a feeling flobberworm fritters are on the dinner menu,” I said, for once looking about as displeased as my peers. Not even I could keep my cocky smirk when it came to those abominations to the culinary arts.

“Wait, these things are edible?” Violet asked, horrified.

“Yup. And no, they don’t taste any better than they look.”

“Out of morbid curiosity… How exactly do you cook these?”

“Batter and fry them like any other fritter, really.”

“Ugh… You’re kidding me…”

“Nope.”

“Zabini? If our friendship means anything at all, please tell me there is an alternative,” she begged. It was cute, like a shaggy, black-haired puppy.

“Hmm, this is the last class and we have two hours before dinner. Sure, why not? Meet me outside the great hall at dinnertime.”

“Seriously? No flobberworm fritters?”

“No, for I am a gracious and merciful god.”

“Piss off, Zabini.”

“Sounding real grateful there, Potter.”

“Die,” she snarked. Then, more gently, “Say, Padma invited you to our study group, right?”

“Hmm? Yes, she did. Is today one of those days?”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Eww, saying it aloud, that sounds like entirely too much studying for me.”

“I take it the nerdy twin was the one who set that schedule?”

“Yeah, but we love her anyway. You coming?”

“No, not this time.”

“Oh, come on. What are friends for if not mutual suffering?”

“Laughing at someone else's suffering, of course. Remember, if it happens to you, it's called tragedy. If it happens to someone else, that's called comedy.”

“Ass.”

“Seriously though, I think I’ll stop by the chess club instead, have a quick match with Weasley.”

“Ron? Why? I mean, I’ve heard you’ve been playing him once a week or so.”

“Rarer? Not quite once a week, but yes. And why not? He’s quite good, you know.”

“Yeah, he’s been bragging that he’s more cunning than ‘that slimy snake,’” she said.

“Is he now?” I hummed. “Fantastic.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You… You’re letting him win. Why?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You can see the future.”

“Only five-”

“Don’t give me that tripe. You know I know that’s a crock of bull.”

“Well, Potter, a man like Weasley is driven by two things: his ego and his cock. Seeing how I refuse to stroke the latter, the former it must be,” I replied with a carefree shrug.

“One, eww. Two, why?”

“Nothing harmful, promise.”

“Really?”

I offered her a smile that wouldn’t melt butter. “Would I dare lie to my darling friend?”

“If it amuses you? Absolutely. You'd lie your pretty little head off in a heartbeat,” she said, throwing my own words back at me.

I couldn't help it. I cradled my face in one hand and batted my lashes at her. “Y-You think I'm pretty? Really?”

“Piss off, Zabini. Get back to squeezing your worm.”

“Heh, that's what she-”

“Finish that sentence and I'll shave you bald.”

“Heh.”

Author’s Note

I fucking hate writing Quirrell. Remember, he’s not dealing with Voldemort directly, just Quirrell. That’s an important distinction. It’s not like he was going to have some huge confrontation right off the bat. For now, setting the stage is enough.

Yes, I wrote over a thousand words on flobberworms. No, it doesn’t advance the plot in any way. And yes, flobberworm fritters are canon.

Food Fact: A fairly common Korean street food is beondegi (BEON-de-Gi). It is the pupae of a silkworm which has been boiled in a soy sauce solution. The food doesn’t have any special traditional significance, but it is high in fiber and protein and a natural byproduct of the silk-making process. You need to do something with the pupae after you take away the cocoon after all.

I used to love the stuff when I was a kid. I don’t like it quite as much now, but I’ll occasionally order a can (they sell them in cans now, too) purely for nostalgia. The broth really takes me back to elementary school in Korea. Back then, I used to buy a little paper cup of the stuff from a street cart in winter.

As for the taste, it’s really hard to describe. Soy sauce, obviously, but there’s also a rich depth that almost reminds you of beef broth. It’s got a lot of umami flavor and has a soft chew. The pupae pop in your mouth like little pearls too. Definitely an acquired taste, but it’s nowhere near as bad as you’d expect.

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.