Chapter Text
“I don’t think it’s fair!” the Auror exclaimed, clearly annoyed.
“I don’t think I asked for your opinion, did I, Potter?” Robards, A.K.A. “Bastard of the Year,” replied.
“Likewise, I don’t think it’s fair at all. How do you justify the lack of personnel on a mission like this? Are you just going to keep dismissing people?”
“I told you that’s not my problem. I’ve already given you my signature with the students I do approve for the team,” he sighed, clearly irritated. “I won’t accept any Death Eaters. That’s final, Potter.”
This son of a bitch talks so much crap as if it were mandatory. What a magnificent idiot.
“Fine. Thanks for absolutely nothing, Gawain.” Without waiting for a reply, I left and slammed the door.
I don’t need him. I’ll do whatever I want, with or without his signature, I thought.
I headed to the Auror Department. I needed to drop off my papers, take a shower, and figure out what the hell I was going to do.
Will they judge me if I joke about a coup?
To hell with what they say. All I need is for that damn Robards to stop being a jerk and give Blaise a measly chance. He doesn't even have the Dark Mark, for Merlin's sake.
...
It certainly wasn't something I'd anticipated, but with Mione's wedding and her strange friendship with Zabini, I couldn't afford to be left out or come across as rude. And it turns out the bastard is incredibly charming. His sarcasm is almost identical to mine, and maybe… just maybe, that's why we clashed so much.
It wasn't even that serious.
I was just defending myself… right?
It wasn't the first time we'd argued, but it was the first time we'd been left completely alone. Mione's excuse was that we needed to review some overdue reports.
The truth: maybe she wanted to see how long it would take us to kill each other.
[18 Months Earlier]
Zabini was leaning against the desk, impeccably dressed as ever, leafing through the file as if it were nothing more than an elegant pastime.
"If you're going to keep sighing dramatically, at least do it quietly," he muttered without looking up.
“And if you’re going to keep existing, try not to do it in my office.”
He raised an eyebrow, perfectly shaped if you ask me.
“Technically, it’s the Ministry’s office. And, if I’m not mistaken, you also work here thanks to a firm that isn’t entirely yours.”
That’s when something exploded in my mind.
Rage.
“I don’t need you to remind me of political favors, Zabini.”
“They’re not favors. They’re opportunities. Something that, ironically, you want to give me now.”
Silence.
I approached the desk with calculated slowness. He didn’t back down. Of course not.
“Don’t get this mixed up,” I said quietly. “I’m not defending your family name. I’m defending your results, you ungrateful bastard.”
For the first time, he stopped seeming funny.
“Results?” He closed the file gently. "Interesting word coming from someone who almost caused a diplomatic row on a damn mission."
Ah... That
I smiled humorlessly. "And yet I solved the case."
"With collateral damage."
"But I was effective." I said with obvious sarcasm.
We stared at each other for a second too long. It wasn't hatred. It was competition. As if we were both trying to gauge how far the other could go before breaking.
He spoke first.
"I don't have the Mark," he said, without sarcasm. "I never did. But I guess that's not enough when your name and your mistakes weigh more than your current decisions."
There was no anger, just.. weariness.
And that threw me off.
I wanted a fight...
"I know," I admitted.
Zabini tilted his head, studying me.
"So why are you still arguing with Robards about me?"
That's a very good question.
“Because I hate incompetence,” I replied. “And because you’re annoyingly useful.”
A pause.
Then that smug smile appeared. “Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get too excited.”
He moved close enough to invade my personal space.
“Relax, Potter. I don’t usually get excited about people who call me a ‘Death Eater’ every other sentence.”
“I never called you that.”
“You thought it.”
I exhaled in frustration. “I thought a lot of things. But that wasn’t one of them.”
The silence returned, thick and heavy.
And then he made that precious mistake…
Zabini grabbed his wand from the table, but I was faster.
“Expelliarmus!”
The wand shot out and landed in my hand.
I’m so fucking AMAZING.
Zabini looked at me, it seemed like there was no more amusement in his eyes. "Give it back."
"No."
"Potter…"
"What? Are you going to cry?"
And that's when I lost him.
He lunged at me with a speed I'd never seen in him before. He grabbed my forearm, trying to get the wand back. We struggled, crashing into the desk. A filing cabinet fell to the floor. Parchments flew through the air, and the chair went flying backward.
My moment had arrived.
"You're an impulsive idiot," he growled.
"And you're an insufferable arrogant jerk."
We rolled against the wall. His strength was real, controlled, technical. Damn bastard, I thought.
He wasn't a kid playing at fighting. He was trained, there was a reason he became a damn Auror.
We were half a second away from this ceasing to be a ridiculous fight and becoming something serious.
The door burst open.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Hermione Granger-Weasley didn’t shout that often, but when she did, the whole Ministry trembled.
And we all froze, of course.
Me, still clutching our wands, and Zabini with my crumpled robes in his fist.
Hermione surveyed the mess. Then looked back at us. Then back at the mess again.
“Is this an Auror department or some damn teenage dueling club?”
Absolute silence.
“Do you think Robards needs any more reasons to discredit Blaise? Or that the Ministry is in any position to tolerate two agents behaving like fifteen-year-olds?”
I slowly lowered my wand and Zabini stepped aside first.
Clever.
"This is exactly what he wants,” Hermione continued, lowering her voice but not her intensity. “For them to fail. For them to confirm his prejudices.” And you're doing the damn work for him for free.
He looked directly at me. "Harry James Potter. If you're going to defend someone, do it strategically. Not with poorly managed, high testosterone."
Ouch.
Then she looked at Zabini.
"And you. If you want to be taken seriously, start by not provoking the only idiot willing to ruin his reputation for you."
It was a resounding knockout.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Pick this up. Hand in the reports. And if I find a single parchment out of place again, I swear I'll put you on file for six months."
She turned and left.
The silence that followed was… awkward.
Zabini adjusted his robes. "It's terrifying."
"I know."
A pause.
Then, almost imperceptibly: "Thanks," he murmured.
I didn't look at him and started straightening my uniform. "Don't get used to it."
Something had changed. I didn't know it then, but later I understood… I think.