Forgotten

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I'm not making any money for this, I'm just writing for fun.

Rating: PG-13.

Word count: about 7,500.

Pairing: Blaise/Harry.

Warnings/classifications: angsty, fluffy, slashy (in no particular order).

Summary: Blaise Zabini wakes up from a coma, and discovers the world has gone mad. Or maybe he has...

Author's notes: Inspired by a plotbunny my mother gave me. She has no idea I made it slashy, lol. This fic was originally divided in a prologue, two chapters and an epilogue, but because of the shortness of the prologue and epilogue, they're combined in a long one-shot here. I did mark the chapter beginnings, though.

Written for the Potent Serpent Summer Writing Challenge.

XxX

Prologue

"Blaise." His mother smiled as the tall, handsome Slytherin entered the dining room, looking haughty as ever. "So glad you could come."

Blaise Zabini returned the smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It never did. "The pleasure is all mine," he drawled. "Good evening, Mr... Oops, forgot your name."

A slightly hurt expression crossed the features of the man in expensive clothes at the other side of the table.

Blaise had never bothered learning the name of his mother's eighth husband. Why should he? He knew the man wouldn't last longer than at most a few months, depending on how... entertaining his mother found the man. He had made the mistake of liking one of his mother's victims once, but he had learned his lesson.

He shared a look with his mother, over the table, and didn't like her expression one bit. Maybe Mr Whatever wouldn't even make it to the next day.

He shrugged.

The man apparently had no idea what was in stock for him. Blaise supposed his mother had taken care of that one way or the other; she had plenty of experience with matters like these, after all.

"Quite a pity that Hogwarts is closed this year, isn't it, Blaise?" the man tried to start a polite conversation.

Blaise, not seeing the use of being polite, merely shrugged and replied with a bored "I suppose so."

The House Elves brought the entrée, and no one spoke for a couple of minutes.

"So what are you going to do this year?" his stepfather - how he hated that word! - inquired, when he had finished his soup.

Blaise took his time with his last spoonful of soup, before replying: "I'm not sure yet. Maybe travel a bit."

"That's nice."

Silence ensued again.

The House Elves removed the plates and brought the main course. Blaise caught his mother's eye and saw his suspicions confirmed. He almost felt sorry for the man, who had been nothing but polite to him, even though Blaise hadn't been polite at all.

His mother, a devilish glint in her eyes, held her right hand so that her husband couldn't see it, and counted.

Three.

Two.

One.

A searing pain shot through Blaise, and he - his eyes bulging and clawing at his stomach - fell from his chair.

A screamed "Noooo!" pierced his already hurting eardrums, and then he saw someone looming over him - something was forced through his throat.

Everything went black.

Chapter 1

Oh no, Blaise...

I never meant for this to happen...

I'm so sorry...

Open your eyes...

He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't.

Pain...

Darkness...

Blaise... Wake up...

He tried to move, give a sign that he was still there, but his body wouldn't listen.

A dark tunnel, light looming at the end of it...

If only he could get to the end, then everything would be all right...

He took a step forward, but the end of the tunnel - the light - didn't seem to get nearer...

He started running, but his feet were glued to the subsoil...

Nooooooooooooooooo!

He trashed wildly, and his eyes flew open.

"Blaise!" His mother flung herself at him and burst into tears. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!"

He tried to speak, but his throat felt like concrete. Eventually he managed to croak: "What happened?"

XxX

"Your new year at Hogwarts will be starting in a couple of days," his mother, sitting next to his bed in his old room, said. "Do you think you'll be fit enough to go?"

"Hogwarts isn't closed this year then?" Blaise asked, faintly surprised. The last thing he'd heard before his... accident, was that Hogwarts wouldn't reopen, after the Death Eater attack and Dumbledore's death.

His mother gave him a weird look. "Of course it isn't. Why would it?"

He blinked, not sure what to think of her reaction, but decided not to go into the subject more. Maybe he had just missed something during the time he had been unconscious. "I... never mind."

Helena Zabini glanced at him worriedly. "Are you sure you've recovered enough?"

He smiled slightly. "Yes, Mother. And there's a good nurse at Hogwarts. She'll know what to do if something goes wrong."

His mother cast down her eyes, then burst out: "Oh, Blaise! I'm so sorry! I've been such a bad mother! First I ignored you because I was more interested in gold than in my own son, and now I almost killed you!"

Blaise was startled by his mother's sudden display of emotions. He had never known her as anything but cold and calculating. He wasn't sure if he liked this new version of his mother; he had managed quite well without her care. He awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder. "If you hadn't reacted so quickly with that bezoar, I wouldn't have survived. So actually you saved me."

"But without my stupid plan it wouldn't have been necessary to save you! Then you wouldn't have been in a coma for weeks and -"

"At least you didn't do it on purpose," he said with a shrug. What was done, was done. Nothing could be changed by thinking about what she should have done differently.

"I don't deserve a son like you," she eventually said, with a watery smile. "So intelligent, so handsome..."

He smiled indulgently. The smile still didn't reach his eyes.

XxX

Four days later, Blaise was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, not-really-listening to Headmistress McGonagall's speech. Instead, his eyes wandered through the Hall. Apparently everyone had returned to Hogwarts this year, even those who had left during the last year. He wondered why. After all, the Dark Lord was still alive and kicking, wasn't he? Or would he have missed that, too, during his coma? No, he couldn't believe people wouldn't have told him, if that was the case. The only person who was missing - as far as he could tell - was Potter.

"Where'd you think Potter is?" he whispered to Daphne Greengrass, who was one of his best friends and sitting next to him, when McGonagall had stopped talking.

She looked up sharply. "Who?"

"Potter," he repeated.

She gave him an utterly blank look. "Who the hell is that?"

He stared at her. How could she not know Harry Potter? "You know. Harry Potter, Gryffindor, Chosen One, all that rubbish?"

She shook her head, bewildered. "I'm sorry, I have no idea who you're talking about. Are you feeling all right? Maybe the poison has -"

"Is this a joke?"

"Blaise, I-" Daphne began.

He was sure this had to be a joke, but if that was the case, Daphne was a better actress than he'd given her credit for. "Harry Potter, the one everyone thinks is going to defeat the Dark Lord?" he tried again.

Several Slytherins were now listening in, wearing similar expressions of curiosity and pity.

"That is blasphemy, Blaise," Theo - his other best friend and future Death Eater - said, his eyes wide. "No one can defeat the Dark Lord."

"I think I heard that name before, though," Morag MacDougal, Slytherin's resident geek, interjected. Surely she wouldn't be part of a conspiracy to play a practical joke on him?

"Of course!" Blaise said desperately. "He almost killed the Dark Lord, sixteen years ago, and fought him numerous times over the past few years!"

Daphne put her hand on his forehead. "Blaise," she said in the same tone people always use when talking to little kids, "you've clearly been hallucinating. It's understandable, with the poisoning and all that, but you must be careful. Not everyone will be so understanding. You wouldn't want to end up in the Dark Lord's torture chambers, for treason."

"I -" Blaise had no idea what was going on. Was this all one elaborate joke? He couldn't believe all the Slytherins would be involved. And where was Potter? Why weren't his friends with him if he was on some idiotic quest to kill Voldemort?

Maybe he was the one that was wrong? He didn't believe that - didn't want to believe that - but maybe he'd better let the subject rest. For now. "You're right. The poison must've messed with my mind." He'd investigate this further later.

Daphne smiled at him encouragingly and patted him on the back.

The Slytherins went back to their food, and Blaise returned to his ponderings. Something strange was going on. Either he was going insane - and he didn't want to believe that - or something had happened while he was unconscious. The joke-hypothesis was hardly likely, so quickly after the start of the year, and even the Slytherins wouldn't be so evil as to do something like that so short after his near-death experience... right?

He resolved to get to the bottom of this.

And thus, after dinner, he went to Hermione Granger - Mudblood, and one of Harry's best friends.

"Granger."

She halted - as did Weasley, who was walking with her - and turned to see who had called her name. "Zabini?" she said, surprised and more than slightly wary.

Weasley aggressively stepped forward - which failed to impress Blaise, since he was still several inches taller - and hissed: "Stay away from her, you filthy Slytherin."

Blaise merely pushed the redhead aside and said calmly: "I only wanted to ask you something."

Granger, tilting her head a bit, nodded warily. "Ask ahead."

"What do you know about Harry Potter?" he asked neutrally. He figured that was a better approach than just ask "Where is Potter?".

Both stared at him like he had stared at Daphne, earlier that evening, and he hoped for a moment that it was because it was obvious that they knew much about him. "Why... do you want to know that?" Granger eventually asked.

"And why would we know? I've never even heard of the guy!" Weasley added aggressively.

"He is your best friend!" Blaise exclaimed, exasperated.

Granger looked at him with a mixture of disgust and pity. "Zabini, Harry Potter died sixteen years ago at the hands of the Dark Lord. I don't know what you're playing at, but this is not funny."

Blaise suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

"Sorry. Blaise is recovering from a poisoning. It appears to have done something to his memory."

He let Daphne drag him away, and tried to ignore the look of pity on Granger's face and the look of contempt on Weasley's.

"What did I tell you about being careful?" she snapped. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I'm sorry," Blaise said stiffly.

Daphne sighed and patted him affectionately on the arm. "I know you don't do it on purpose. But really, talking to Gryffindors?"

He smirked half-heartedly. "I know. It's insane. The poison must've really damaged my brain."

"Let's hope it's all reversible," Daphne smiled. "I want the old Blaise back."

That night, in his dormitory, Blaise came to the conclusion that something was terribly wrong. He was sure he hadn't dreamed everything. Seventeen years' of memories couldn't just be... altered, could they? But he had to admit that the alternatives - everyone's memories being altered, or everyone being part of one, big practical joke - were a lot more unlikely.

He decided to plead memory loss and get to know as much as possible about this strange new world; at least until he found out what was going on.

XxX

The next morning, at breakfast, the Slytherins kept on sending him surreptitious looks, which Blaise returned with a neutral 'What? Anything wrong? Hadn't noticed' expression. "Hey, Daphne," he began.

She looked up from her breakfast and shot him a searching look, clearly trying to find signs of his 'insanity' of the day before. Blaise took care that she didn't.

"Hey, I don't know exactly what happened to my brain or how much it has affected my memories, so uhm... I was wondering if you could give me a short recap of the past seventeen years. Just a global outline," he quickly added, when he saw Daphne open her mouth. "Just to see if I got everything all right in my head."

"Sure," she smiled.

And thus, that evening found him and Daphne sitting in a quiet corner of the common room. She told Blaise a fascinating story, or at least it sounded as just a story to him. For her, it probably was the truth.

Apparently sixteen years ago, after Harry Potter's death, the Dark Lord had disappeared, because he believed that the Wizarding World wasn't ready for his leadership yet, and to recover from the terrible injuries the evil Order of the Phoenix had inflicted upon him. Daphne told him, awe-struck, how the Order had maimed the Dark Lord, that his face was horribly disfigured, and that he, for that reason, always hid his face in the shadows of the cap of his black robe. This was what had earned him the title 'Dark Lord'. But of course Blaise knew all this?

He made a motion that vaguely resembled an affirming nod, and 'hmm'ed non-committally.

In the years after that, only his most loyal followers had remained on his side, until a civil war - instigated by the evil Order of the Phoenix - had broken out. The Wizarding World had called for a saviour, and the Dark Lord had answered. He had ended the war, and brought peace to the Wizarding World again. Rufus Scrimgeour was still Minister for Magic, but all important decisions lay with the Dark Lord. His elite troops, the Death Eaters, ensured that justice would take its course.

The Wizarding World had never been so prosperous. Al Slytherins of course wanted to join him and help work on the noble cause. Sadly, the other Houses mostly didn't seem to understand. They saw how good the Dark Lord was for them, but rather than actively participating in making this world a better place, they were passive and just waited for the Dark Lord to take care of everything. A bit egocentric, wasn't it?

Blaise pleasantly agreed. "Oh yeah, horribly selfish. I'm glad I'm not in one of those Houses."

Daphne looked at him searchingly, and apparently was satisfied with what she saw, for she continued her tale.

Draco, apparently, had been so motivated that the Dark Lord had asked him to become a member of his special forces, the Death Eaters. So called because they fought the Order, which brought death and destruction.

"Of course," Blaise said, while marvelling at the differences between Daphne's story and what he remembered.

Surely, Blaise wanted to join the Death Eaters too when he had finished school?

It seemed safest to say yes. He didn't really have a clue what else he wanted to do with his future, and he had a hunch the key to his loss of memory might be found there. After all, who would gain the most if Harry Potter was erased from everyone's memories? "Oh... definitely. I'd be honoured to be part of the Dark Lord's elite group."

Daphne gave him a relieved smile. "I'm glad you're beginning to get back to normal. Do you remember everything now?"

"It's starting to all come back," he lied. In fact, it wasn't, but logically seen, it must be his memory that was at fault. If even Weasley and Granger couldn't remember Potter... "I reserve the right to ask further questions, though," he said with a taking smile.

XxX

Days passed and turned into weeks, and Blaise fell into a routine. Classes went by as usual, and Blaise found himself adapting to this 'new world'. It was quite easy, actually. Most of the time his memories - true or not - combined with things Daphne had told him were sufficient. When they weren't, he claimed that there were still gaps in his memory, and Daphne - or another Slytherin - would give him the missing information, after which Blaise would exclaim that "It all comes back!".

But he never forgot.

Not even at the times when he thought this life really wasn't that bad. The thought might have got more and more to the background, but it never completely left him.

"I'm so glad you're better again," Daphne said one evening, leaning against Theo, who was absent-mindedly playing with a lock of her long, blond hair.

It was almost the end of the year - they had just had their last NEWT exams - and the three seventh-year Slytherins were sitting in front of the fireplace in their common room.

"Me too," he said with a lazy grin. "I was really confused for a while. It's thanks to you that everything worked out so well."

Daphne smiled and Theo mock-possessively put his arm around her. "Mine."

"Damn. Well, Daphne, should you ever dump this pathetic excuse for a Slytherin, you know where to find me," he grinned, and Theo mock-glared.

"Aww, Theo, don't do that ugly look," Daphne teased, "Or I'll feel forced to take Blaise up on his offer."

"I'm glad you also decided to join the Death Eaters," Theo said lazily. "The selection procedure is said to be very tough."

"I think being part of the Death Eaters would be the most honourable thing to do with my future. Supposed that they'll let me join. Do you think my... memory problems will be an obstacle?"

Theo shrugged and Daphne, who had dozed off with her head on his shoulder, stirred. "What?" she asked sleepily.

"Nothing, love. Blaise and I were talking about the Death Eater camp," Theo said and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Oh," she mumbled, and dozed off again.

Blaise fought a smile. His two best friends had got together during their sixth year and were still very much in love.

Theo saw his expression and smirked. "I believe Morag is still single. And Millicent," he added, almost as an afterthought, "but I'm sure you wouldn't want her."

"Quite right. Nah, I'm perfectly happy on my own. Besides, the prettiest girl of Hogwarts is already taken." He smirked.

Theo pretended to be thinking for a while, and exclaimed: "Ah! Now I know! You're scared that you'll forget your girlfriend's name!"

"Very funny, but no. Anyway, to get back to my question: do you think my... memory-loss will be a problem?"

"I don't think so," Theo replied, careful not to shrug again. "Most of the time it's not even noticeable anymore."

"I'm just scared that I'll mess up the really basic questions, like, what do the Death Eaters actually do?" Blaise asked. He wasn't sure if the answer would still be 'torturing and killing innocent Muggles and random wizards'.

To his relief Theo just said: "Oh, that's not your memory; no one really knows. They apparently maintain order, if necessary, but it's been a long time since their last action."

"Oh. Well, that's fine then."

XxX

Blaise spent de few weeks of summer holiday before he'd get his NEWT results - and thus confirmation if he would be allowed to partake in the Death Eater training camp - mostly in various libraries. He read up on the history of the Dark Lord and the Wizarding World and - if he could do so unsuspected - read about memory spells.

The only thing he could find about his condition was a suggestion in some dusty old edition of that stupid Quibbler that he might have been transported to a parallel dimension. He rejected that idea; it was ridiculous. And everyone knew The Quibbler was rubbish anyway.

The quality of the books in libraries nowadays was appalling, by the way. Many of the books on Wizarding World history had blank spots at random places. Blaise huffed indignantly, and muttered: "Those editors really should read these books more carefully before publishing them."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" the librarian - a friendly, woman in her forties, who just walked by, asked.

"The pages contain all this white space," he said, indicating a particularly striking example.

The lady blinked. "Which book is it, young man?"

He checked to cover. "The Wizarding World: 1900 to present."

"That is weird. I read that book last year, and I didn't notice anything like that back then." The librarian leafed through the book. "Strange."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "Text can't just... disappear from books like that, can it? Look, these books have those blank paragraphs, too."

"That's horrible! Maybe someone thought it was funny to erase part of the books. I can't think of any other explanation."

"Someone who doesn't like history," Blaise added. "I haven't observed the phenomenon in other books."

"I clearly haven't been taking good enough care of the books," the librarian said, gloomily patting History of Wizardkind on its cover.

As his training began, the incident was forgotten, and to his joy, both he and Theo got through the selections.

He discovered that being a Death Eater wasn't that exciting, nor was it particularly useful. But he supposed that would get better when he climbed to higher ranks. As beginning Death Eater - he still didn't really associate the term 'Death Eater' with non-violent or non-sadistic actions, like his House-mates had told him their function was - he didn't do more than relaying messages or cleaning the Head Quarters. His superior was so big and intimidating that Blaise thought it wouldn't be a good idea to ask why they had to do these odd jobs, and not House Elves.

The boringness that was his life as Death Eater changed abruptly when he was ordered to work in the dungeons, where the prisoners were kept.

"Here, bring this to prisoner 218 and clean his cell a bit," a broad, cloaked Death Eater gruffly ordered him.

Blaise - interested to see another part of the gigantic Head Quarters - took off quickly.

The dungeons were just like he had expected: dark and humid. Cell 218, with its apparently unnamed prisoner, was found quickly.

The person sitting on the small, wooden bench at the back of the cell raised his head, covered with long, filthy black hair, and Blaise almost dropped the plate he was carrying.

"Harry Potter?" he whispered disbelievingly.

Chapter 2

The person in the cell jumped up and all but flew to the door, clenching his fingers around the bars. "You... recognise me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Of course I do. Everyone would," Blaise said, rolling his eyes, before suddenly remembering the past two years. "...or maybe not. The world has gone crazy. They seem to think you died eighteen years ago." As an afterthought, he mumbled: "Or maybe I'm hallucinating now."

A hand - rough and not exactly clean - grabbed his from behind the bars. "No... I'm just as real as you are."

Blaise was slightly taken aback at the sudden contact, but found himself putting his other hand over Potter's, as if trying to make sure that the person everyone had wanted him to believe was dead was really there. "Just a sec. I have to get inside your cell to give you your food and clean things up here a bit," he said. "How did the other guards do that?"

Potter shrugged. "They mostly just ignored me. Didn't even seem to see me at all, actually. And it's not like I can escape without my wand anyway. The wards are just too damn strong," he said bitterly.

"You tried?"

"Yeah," Potter replied, and rolled up his left sleeve. "This is the only thing I gained with my attempt. Even more scars."

"Ouch," Blaise said sympathetically. He had never really liked Potter, but it was very hard - if not impossible - to not sympathise with this young man, his clothes and appearance altogether looking ragged. Blaise now knew from experience that being regarded as insane was... no fun, so to speak. He could only imagine what it must be like to be forgotten for two years. Potter was also the only person apart from Blaise - as far as he knew - who knew the truth. "What happened?"

Potter apparently understood that he wasn't talking about his attempt to escape. He grimaced. "Just when Ron, Hermione and I had found the last Horcrux - I suppose they have forgotten about me too... - I got caught and thrown in here. I tried to stay fit by doing push-ups every day, but -" he gestured helplessly at his surroundings.

Blaise sat down next to him on the bench. "I was accidentally poisoned and got in a coma. When I woke up -" he shrugged, "- it was like this. People thought I had gone insane where I asked where you'd gone to, at the start of the year."

"Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Blaise shrugged again. "It seemed the most sensible thing to do. And I had the vague hope the key to my... memories would lie somewhere here. But I should go. The Death Eater in charge of the dungeons didn't look like a very patient man."

Blaise stood up and took a step towards the door, but was halted by a hand on his arm.

"You'll return, right?"

"I -" 'Only if my boss will tell me to', he wanted to say, but as he looked into the green depths of Potter's eyes and saw his own loneliness, his own being misunderstood, reflected there, he knew that he would return. The key to the mystery had to be somewhere here.

"I will," he promised.

"Thanks," Potter whispered.

XxX

Unfortunately, Blaise wasn't assigned to the dungeons for a long time. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be a good idea to just go there by himself, without being ordered to, but he couldn't forget about his promise to Potter.

You'll return, right?

I will.

Potter, the only other person who knew the truth.

He had to go.

XxX

"I don't suppose getting into your cell without a key would be as easy as just performing 'Alohomora'..." Blaise muttered.

"And even if it did, what would it achieve?" Potter commented gloomily.

Blaise grimaced. "So what do we do now?"

Potter shrugged, and neither of them spoke for a while.

"I think you should go to Hermione," Potter said suddenly. "I mean, killing Voldemort might undo the spell, but if it doesn't, we'd kill the only one who knows how to reverse it."

"She doesn't remember you. And she thinks I'm insane."

"But still," Potter tried, "if you just ask her - nicely! - if she'd help you research for a spell that could affect all this... Just say it's a hypothetical situation. She might think you're still in denial about your loss of memory or whatever, but who cares?"

"Yes, who cares?" Blaise muttered sarcastically. "It's not your sanity that's going to be questioned."

"As you said, she already thinks you're insane. Why not reinforce that impression?" Potter said cheerfully.

"Oh, and I almost forgot. She. Doesn't. Like. Me. Why would she help me?"

Potter shrugged. "She's Hermione. She likes doing research. And I bet she'd love to prove that you're wrong."

Blaise rolled his eyes and gave up. "Fine. I'll go this Saturday, when I have a day off."

XxX

That Saturday, Blaise found himself in a front of the door of a small house near Ottery St. Catchpole. He knocked.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, and seconds later, the door was opened.

"Hello," he said pleasantly.

She smacked the door closed in his face.

Blaise sighed and knocked again.

It took a full minute before the door opened again, and when it did, it revealed a very irate-looking Hermione Granger. "What do you want?" she snapped. The 'you filthy Death Eater' was hanging in the air between them. Blaise had discovered that even though the Death Eaters weren't as vile as they used to be, most people still didn't like them.

He chose his words carefully. "I know you think I'm either insane or just very annoying, but I... I need your help."

She raised an eyebrow, sarcastically. "And why would I help you?"

"Because ever since my... accident, my memory problems have been bothering me. I can't trust my own memory anymore, and it scares me. And I," he tried to sound desperate and pleading, "I just want to be sure that it's really me that's at fault. As long as I keep on thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was something - someone - else who caused all this, I can't really let go and continue my life. You are the brightest witch I know; if you can't find anything that proves my theory, I'll believe you. I'd finally be able to move on.

"And because if there is even the smallest chance that something really did go terribly wrong, I don't think you'd want an innocent person in prison. I found him, you see," he said softly but urgently. "And I want - no, need - to know that I'm not insane. And I promise that if you prove that I cannot be right, that I'll never bother you again," he added.

"Who's there, 'Mione?" a voice - Ronald Weasley's, no doubt - called from inside the house.

"No one," Granger called back, before turning to Blaise again. When she did, he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "I'm not saying I'm helping you, but if I would, what exactly do you expect me to do?"

He kept his facial expression carefully neutral. "I'd like you to research if it's possible that a charm exists that alters people's memories. A charm that erases a whole person from history; possibly even from books," he said, remembering the strange blank spots in the history books he'd read a year ago. "And how to undo that spell."

"Zabini, I..." She seemed to be looking for the right words, but suddenly snapped back her attention to him, as if she only registered his previous words then. "What did you say about books?" she asked, sharply.

"I just remembered that last year, when I was reading up on Wizarding history, I found strange blank spots in many of the books I was reading. I hadn't thought much about it since then, but when I said the word 'history', I suddenly remembered. It just seems too much of a coincidence," he said, looking at her intently.

"Some of my books have the same thing. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed that sooner, but I just assumed -" Granger looked at him. "All right, I'm going to do what you asked me. But not for you. And whatever I find, you'll leave me alone after that, right?"

Blaise nodded and extended his hand. "Deal."

She hesitated, but then shook his hand. "Deal."

XxX

The next day, Blaise didn't find the time to go to the dungeons; he was constantly sent from one place to the other, to do the most ridiculous odd jobs. The day after that, however, he managed to sneak away during lunch.

"Blaise!" Harry exclaimed, and Blaise wondered absent-mindedly when they had changed from 'Potter' and 'Zabini' into 'Harry' and 'Blaise'. "How did it go?"

"She agreed to help," he replied.

"See? I told you she would," Harry smiled.

Out of habit, Blaise laid his hand upon Harry's - which was resting on the bars of the cell door - as if testing if he was still real.

Suddenly Harry tensed. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear wh-" Footsteps. "Fuck. I'd better get out of here." He couldn't be found here in front of cell 218. It would be hard enough to explain his presence in the dungeons when he wasn't supposed to be there, but standing in front of a - to other people - empty cell would be close to impossible.

Only seconds after he'd reached the more 'normal' part of the cell complex, he heard a cold voice from the darkness. "What are you doing?"

He froze. He had known his luck would run out sooner or later, and it wasn't like he hadn't been warned in time by the footsteps, but still he was caught unprepared.

"The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy if he knew you're disfiguring his cells by banging your head against the wall," the voice continued, and Blaise realised the woman - whose voice he had recognised as Bellatrix Lestrange's - was talking to one of the prisoners. He pressed himself against the wall, staying in the dark as much as he possible could. He just hoped she wouldn't get farther into the dungeons and that the prisoners wouldn't give him away. Lestrange was someone he really didn't want to meet; especially not now that he was somewhere he shouldn't be.

"Crucio."

The air was filled by gasps and screams from the unlucky prisoner and Blaise's heart beat so loud that it surprised him very much that Lestrange didn't hear it.

The screams died away, Lestrange laughed, and the sound of her footsteps slowly faded away.

XxX

After his narrow escape, he thought it would be better to wait until he had heard from Granger before visiting Harry again. He knew Harry would probably be worried sick about him, but he didn't see any other way at the moment. There was more at stake.

Fortunately for him, Granger worked fast as ever, and after a telephone call a week later, he found himself knocking on the dark-green door of number 14 again. This time it was Weasley who opened. He glared at Blaise, but grudgingly stepped aside and said, "Come in."

Blaise followed the redhead to a cosy living room, that consisted of a mix of magical and Muggle objects. Granger was waiting for him behind a huge stash of books.

"So, what did you find?" he asked, when they had exchanged the obligatory civilities. He assumed that if she'd found nothing at all, she would have just told him over the phone - glad to be finally rid of him - instead of inviting him.

She wordlessly handed him a book. It was opened on the first page of a chapter entitled 'Theory of Memory Charms'. He quickly skimmed the text.

"It's highly complicated, but it's possible," Granger said. "The caster would need to create a cascade, and then everyone in the Wizarding World would be affected within, well, not a long time. It's a bit like domino: one stone falls, which then takes the next down, et cetera, et cetera."

"Do you have any idea what might end the charm?" Blaise asked, still reading through the book. As the spell hadn't been created yet when the book had been written, it didn't say anything about that.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Without knowing the exact nature of the spell, it's impossible to create a counter-spell. Only the caster can reverse it. Or maybe..."

"Or?" he pressed.

"Or maybe the spell would end if the caster is killed. If this spell behaves like a normal memory charm, the memories are only repressed, not erased. And with normal memory charms, the memories need to be constantly blocked: if the block is removed, the memories miraculously 'return'. Think of it as domino stones, which are tied to the floor with slack elastics: if the finger holding down the first stone is removed, it'll bounce up again - they'll all bounce up again."

Weasley was blinking owlishly; magical theory clearly wasn't his thing.

Blaise rose. "Thanks, Hermione," he said with a smile, which caused Weasley to glare at him. "I really can't thank you enough for helping me."

"You're welcome... Blaise," she replied, slightly awkwardly. "I'm still not sure whether I believe you or not, but... Well. Good luck."

"Thanks." He gave Hermione another smile - she really wasn't that bad, nodded at Weasley, and took his leave.

XxX

"Thank Merlin," Harry exclaimed. "I thought they'd..." He didn't finish his sentence, but Blaise could guess. He had thought exactly the same, when he'd heard Bellatrix Lestrange torture one of the prisoners.

"Lestrange was walking through the dungeons." A flash of emotion - anger? - crossed Harry's features at the mention of that name. "I thought she'd caught me, but she was talking to a prisoner. She tortured him. Fortunately she didn't see me."

"That was close."

"Too close for comfort," Blaise agreed darkly. "I think we should hurry up with our plan to get you out of here. As for the memory charm, Hermione told me -"

"Hermione?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said she didn't like you. And vice versa."

He shrugged and said with a grin, "Ah, you know, I'm just too charming a person to dislike for long."

Harry snorted, amused. "That you are."

XxX

"So, as far as you know, no one except Voldemort himself knows of your existence?" Blaise asked for the umpteenth time.

"I think he was too paranoid to let anyone in on the plan," Harry said patiently. "Apart from him - and you, of course - no one even seems to see me."

Blaise grinned. "I think I have a plan," he said, and resumed to explain it.

When he had finished talking, a matching grin formed on Harry's face. "I like it. It's reckless, and insane, but I think it might actually work."

And thus, two days later Blaise blew up the door of Harry's cell.

After Harry awkwardly stepped through the door-opening - for the first time in two years, Blaise realised - he halted and said, "Blaise, I -"

Blaise turned, and their eyes met. In Harry's green eyes he saw his own insecurities, his own wondering if they'd be able to pull this off, but he also saw strength and resolve, and that, more than anything, made him realise that he was doing the right thing.

"I just... I wanted you to know that... Whatever will happen later, I'm grateful for your help. Without you, I -"

Words weren't necessary anymore, as Blaise pulled him in a tight hug. "We're going to win. You are going to defeat Voldemort, and then everything will turn back to normal," he whispered.

"Let's go."

Their hypothesis that Harry would be able to pass through when he was touching Blaise - who had the Dark Mark - proved correct, and together they marched straight to the room where Blaise knew the Dark Lord to be in a meeting right now.

They were both carrying plates with drinks, and Blaise imperiously made everyone step aside as they passed.

As they had hoped, no one seemed to notice Harry. Some people gave him a fleeting look, but appeared to forget his presence just as soon.

Their dramatic entrance was spoiled a bit by the fact that the door was locked, and not by something that could be undone with a simple 'Alohomora'.

"Great," Harry muttered. "So what do we do now?"

"Knock?" Blaise suggested.

Harry shook his head in amazement. "You're crazy."

"That has been brought to my attention before, yes," Blaise said cheerfully, and knocked on the door.

Harry looked at him in shock, half-expecting to find a squad of Death Eaters coming out to get them any moment now. Instead the door opened - although not calmly - but at least no one came storming out, demanding their execution. It revealed an angry Bellatrix Lestrange, who hissed, "This'd better be important, Zabini."

"It is," Blaise replied pleasantly. "We brought you some drinks. It's so hot today."

"What is it, Bella?" a high, cold voice came from the room.

"They brought us some drinks," Lestrange spat out the last word. She added a hasty "Milord."

"Let them in."

Lestrange glared, but stepped aside, and Blaise and Harry entered the room.

As soon as he saw Harry, the Dark Lord's eyes grew big. "Harry Potter... How...?"

"Milord, what -" a Death Eater - Blaise recognised him as Mr Nott, Theo's father - started asking.

Voldemort seemed to regain his senses. "Get him!" he barked.

The Death Eaters looked at each other, unsure what to do. Surely the Dark Lord didn't want them to 'get' this handsome young man, who just now bowed so respectfully to him?

"Get who, milord?" one of them ventured.

"Harry Potter!"

"Who is Harry Potter, milord?" Snape, looking slightly panicked, asked.

Blaise shot the Dark Lord a mock-worried look. "But milord, you killed Harry Potter eighteen years ago. How can he possibly be here?"

That information seemed to ring a bell with several of the Death Eaters. "Milord, you have worked so hard the past few years, maybe -" one of them began.

"I AM NOT INSANE!" Voldemort screamed, foaming at his lipless mouth, his red eyes bulging, which made him look even more sinister than he usual did, but which also gave him a slightly comical quality. "I'll do it myself then!" he announced dramatically. He jumped up, causing the Death Eaters nearest him to back off in fear.

Harry, meanwhile, had taken a stroll through the room to find his wand, unnoticed by the Death Eaters, and while the Dark Lord was distracted. It would be typically Voldemort to keep the wand someplace where everyone could see it, so that he would be constantly reminded of his victory. Just like how he visited the dungeons every now and then to gloat. But apparently Harry's wand wasn't in this room. He gave Blaise a signal.

Blaise grabbed his wand and muttered the incantation, but so softly that Voldemort couldn't possibly make out what he was saying.

The Dark Lord - stalking through the room in an attempt to find a place from where he could curse Harry, but failed because the Death Eaters were unknowingly in the way - abruptly halted. "What did you do?" he demanded.

Blaise merely raised an eyebrow.

Voldemort's head snapped towards the door as suddenly an object whizzed through it. Blaise calmly caught it and handed it over to Harry, who - during the confusion - had made his way through the assembly of Death Eaters.

"Thanks," Harry said grimly, and raised his wand. "Goodbye, Tom."

Voldemort's eyes opened comically wide as the green jet of Harry's Killing Curse hit him.

Epilogue

As Hermione had predicted, people's memories returned after Voldemort's death.

Rufus Scrimgeour resumed his job as Minister for Magic, and promptly decided that Harry should be awarded an Order of Merlin, first class, for saving the Wizarding World, even though said world hadn't even know he existed.

"You should be the one receiving the Order," Harry said when he heard about it. "Without you..." he trailed off.

Blaise shrugged. "You killed him. Besides, I rather like not being famous."

"Do you think I do?" Harry exclaimed.

"That doesn't matter. You already are," he pointed out calmly.

And thus, Blaise watched from the sidelines - or actually the back of the Great Hall, since the event took place at Hogwarts - as Scrimgeour made his long and boring speech. The crowd cheered as Harry entered the stage and made a speech of his own.

Afterwards, Harry's friends swarmed around him. The Weasley girl clung to his arm, and Harry smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek.

Blaise, watching from a distance, smiled sadly and turned around. His part in Harry's life was over.

Let him have his happy ending.

He didn't get far, though. As he quietly walked through the main door of the castle - on his way to the gates where he would be able to Disapparate - he heard running footsteps behind him.

"Where are you going?"

He turned around. "Home," he said simply.

Harry hesitated. "Don't you want to stay?" he eventually asked, his green eyes looking into Blaise's dark ones.

Blaise looked down, shaking his head. "There's nothing for me here. You have your old life back, your girlfriend, -"

The former Gryffindor closed his eyes and laughed softly. "You completely misunderstand. Ginny's like a sister to me." He tentatively took a few steps towards Blaise, giving him a searching, almost shy look. "In fact, I..." he blushed and looked down. "Isortoflikeyou," he blurted out, looking up hesitantly.

Blaise let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and felt a smile - a real smile - tug on the corners of his mouth. He closed the distance between them. "Is that so?" he said, semi-gravely, bringing up his right hand to touch Harry's face. The green eyes looked into his, not completely sure what to expect. "Well, then I suppose I have something to admit to you, too, Harry." He took a deep breath. "I like you. A lot."

And then he leaned in and kissed him, not caring that they were still very near the castle, on the middle of a road, where everyone could see them..

Focused as they were on each other, they didn't hear the nearing footsteps. Only when the footsteps halted and a loud scream followed by a dull thud resounded in the air, they broke apart slightly.

"Are you sure the Weasley girl knows that your feelings for her are only brotherly?" Blaise whispered against Harry's lips.

Harry just smiled and kissed him. "Now she does."

The End

XxX

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!