Archive of Our Own

I gasped for air, clutching my chest. My bottom lip was quivering so much that I had to bite down on it to keep from blubbering.

Horror ripped through me like a tornado. I'd backed myself against the far wall of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

I was watching myself.

My body was a grotesque puppet on a twisted stage. Writhing across the stone floor, screaming until my voice cracked. My back arched at impossible angles. Tears streamed down my face as I begged for Blaise. I kept shouting his name, over and over and over. Each blaring call for relief was only vocalized with the syllables of his name.

Then the snakes came.

They crawled over my shoes first, then swarmed up my legs. They coiled around my body. The biggest of them wound itself over my ribs, squeezing tighter and tighter until the bones began to crack. The version of me on the floor hyperventilated between shrieks as the serpents bit into her skin.

The sounds of hissing grew thunderous.

Professor Danglars stood frozen, rooted to the spot, eyes wide with shock. I could see the disbelief etched across his face. I didn't think he'd expected this from Blaise's Boggart. Not when the last Boggart had been a simple vulture flying through the air.

I hated snakes. Blaise never minded them as far as I was aware. The thought didn't last. I heard my own voice begin choking on hot blood, a wet guttural sound– almost animalistic. I whipped my head to the side. I couldn't watch anymore.

Blaise tore his eyes away from the illusion. His gaze swept frantically across the room while the Boggart still cried in my voice– undeniably tortured. When he found me, I was shaking so hard I could barely stay upright.

He hurled his wand at the wall opposite of me.

It shattered on impact. Splinters of wood scattered across the cobblestones, and I nearly vomited.

"Ridikulus," Professor Danglars muttered.

The Boggart vanished.

I swore I could see a pool of blood on the ground.

My breathing stopped. Then my lungs seized, forcing another ragged inhale. I convulsed with gasps.

My shoulders shook with each arduous inhale.

I couldn't tell if I was panting or heaving. The distinction didn't mean anything to me.

A drop of sweat slid from my brow and disappeared into my tears.

Every eye in the classroom landed on me. I didn't know what they expected me to do– or if they expected me to say anything at all.

Blaise’s Boggart had just horrified me. I couldn't form a single coherent word if I tried. His fear of me being in agony didn’t make sense, I couldn’t place why or when his Boggart would’ve changed from his mother standing ominously to me dying.

The quiet settled over the room like fresh snow over Hogwarts–thick, muffled, suffocating. My wheezing as I gulped down air was the only noise.

Anthony Goldstein kicked off from the wall where he’d been watching in a different part of the classroom. His eyes scanned Blaise from his sleek black Oxfords to the top of his head, coily curls freshly oiled with jojoba.

"Interesting weakness, Zabini. Didn't see that coming.” Anthony Goldstein folded his arms. “You couldn't even put the poor wretched version of your lovergirl Cufari out of misery.”

Blaise shoved him hard in the chest. Anthony hit the floor with a grunt, the air driven from his lungs.

"Fuck off."

Blaise rounded on Isaac Kelly, one of Anthony's friends. Blaise’s jaw was clenched to the point of shattering his own teeth.

"Bloody bastard."

Isaac hadn't even said anything.

Theodore Nott hesitated. Then picked up the scraps of Blaise’s wand. He gave me a piteous look before continuing to carefully set each piece of wood into a pile.

I knew the wand was never going to be recoverable.

Blaise never looked at me again before storming out of the classroom. His figure was stiff and furious. Heat seemed to radiate off his skin. Anyone who came near him would've sworn they could be burned.

Professor Danglars dismissed the class and hurried after him. His clicky loafers rapping against the floor, going after Blaise’s heavy steps.

I slid down the wall and curled my knees against my chest. I hugged myself tightly.

My hands shook too violently to take Tova's outstretched hand.

She knelt in front of me.

“Cufari. Look at me.” She said, watching every tremor of my eyes, “Cufari, it's over.”

“It's not over,” I cried.

Tova looked around, then waved her hand angrily at everyone, “Don't you all have better places to be? Leave!”

Everyone left.

Theodore abandoned the pile of Blaise’s wand shards where he’d gathered them.

My eyes drifted back to the Boggart closet.

My heart sank again.

I couldn't tell if it was my own shock at seeing myself in pain, or the fact that that was Blaise’s worst fear. I didn't know what Blaise’s subconscious meant by that.

Tova grabbed my face, “Cufari.”

She pulled me up by my elbows and led me out of the classroom. Tova didn't stop rubbing my back the entire way to the Hospital Wing.

A second year halted, and asked what was wrong with me.

Tova ignored them.

She was dead-set on taking me to Madam Pomfrey. Only when I was curled into a ball on a linen bed did Tova release the breath she’d been holding.

“Miss…can you give her something to calm down? Please.” Tova begged, her eyes watery as she tugged on the sleeve of Pomfrey's Healer robes.

I was still jittery.

Pomfrey put another blanket over me.

“Miss Eyring, if I give Miss Cufari Calming Draught, she might not wake up.”

Tova shook her head, “Miss– excuse my language but what the bloody hell do you mean?”

“Miss Cufari’s brain might latch too hard onto the Draught, and a coma is very possible right now. She’ll need to let her body process a bit more. We’ll need to wait another thirty minutes before I give her something.” Pomfrey caressed the back of Tova’s thick black pixie cut, “I’m sorry, Miss Eyring.”

Madam Pomfrey leaned down to me, her lips pursed, and she pushed my hair away from my face gently. She cooed at me, trying to keep me from crying again.

A coma?

The words seemed too distant to scare me.

But the thought of not feeling anything for a while sounded like relief. Unconsciousness sounded comforting.

Tova’s head fell to the bed, and she shook it again. She didn't argue with Madam Pomfrey further.

***

My hands no longer shook constantly, though every now and then my fingers would start trembling for no reason. Today, at dinner, I’d be released from the Hospital Wing. In all fairness, the break had been nice. Although I was worried about what I’d been missing from classes.

The curtain ripped open and Tova’s green eyes bore into mine, “Oi, Cufari, that camisole will drive these Quidditch gits crazy. Cover up, would you?” She rolled her eyes dramatically with a smirk.

Her sarcasm never failed to make me shake my head in exasperation. It felt normal for Tova to joke as she always did, like I wasn’t fragile anymore.

Some of our fellow Ravenclaws had come by and visited, acting like I was glass. I had a whole stack of buttermints and Chocolate Frogs on my sidetable. I’d gotten halfway through a bag of sugar quills since yesterday when Padma Patil and Cho Chang stopped by.

Tova slumped into the chair beside my cot, tossing her schoolbag underneath it. I pulled the blankets higher around my shoulders. The camisole still didn't do much to keep me warm, but Pomfrey insisted light clothes were better than full robes.

“Third day. No news about Zabini.” Tova said, pulling out a Charms book from her bag for me to read, “I’m starting to think he’s been camping out in his dorm. Leeching off Nott’s notes or Malfoy’s scarily accurate photographic memory.”

“I need to talk to him.” I mumbled.

Tova’s eyes narrowed.

“Cufari. No.”

I sighed, “Why not?”

She extended a hand toward me as though I were all the evidence she needed.

“Because his bloody Boggart damn near killed you.” Tova grumbled, she ran a hand through her short hair, “Don’t give him any sympathy.”

“His Boggart was me dying, Tov. It wasn’t that last year.” I reminded her.

It had begun to haunt me. If I skipped Pomfrey's sleeping draught, I'd wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and bawling.

Tova wagged her finger at me, “I’m not letting him get near you. So don’t go chasing after him. What if–” Tova grimaced, her head falling forward, “I can’t bring you back here again. We’ve made it eight years without dying here. I will not have our return to Hogwarts be ruined by Blaise Zabini.”

I shrugged off the blankets, putting my feet on the cold stone floor. My linen shorts didn’t hide the scars.

During the war, I hadn’t been on the front lines. I was stationed near the Great Hall. But Voldemort's snake managed to slither in.

I’d gotten in front of some of the younger kids. My fingers traced the two deep divots in my thigh from where the snake had dug its teeth into me. A powerful spell was cast at the monster and it slunk away back to the main grounds. In the process, I’d gotten Crucio-ed as well. I remember landing on my back and feeling sharp electricity pulse through my spine.

From there, I had fainted.

When I woke up again, the battle was over.

The Great Hall was filled with restrained cries as people said goodbyes to their friends and family.

But my leg was still bleeding.

I exhaled.

Tova put her hand over the scars.

“I have your clothes in my bag. Are you ready? Madam Pomfrey said I could take you back to where you belong. Which is at the Ravenclaw dining table next to me and our friends.”

“Give me my stupid clothes back, Tov.” I said, mustering a laugh with my hand out for Tova to return my clothing.

"I washed them with mine, so they might smell like lavender." Tova stood and stretched. "And yes, I know you prefer the fig one, but I'm not posh like you."

I buttoned my top slowly, “I’m posh, but never–”

“Gaudy. Yes. I know,” Tova laughed.

I zipped my skirt over my shorts instead of replacing them. Once my robes were on, it looked as if nothing had happened that week. I looked practically the same, even if my eyes were a bit too red and my cheeks were slightly puffy from crying.

Madam Pomfrey looked me over at the exit. She put her hand on my cheek and smiled.

“Good to go.”

She turned to Tova, “Bring her back if anything—and I mean it, Miss Eyring—if anything happens.”

“Yes, Miss.”

The oak doors shuttered behind us. I found my footing, falling back into step with the routine. Tova kept rambling about the Quidditch match coming up, she played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. And she always kicked arse. Faster than anyone else on a broom, with instincts so sharp it was almost unfair. It was the Eyring Legacy. Her brother Mattias was just as brilliant. Hufflepuff’s star Beater. The pair of them had been beating each other in Quidditch games since the womb.

The portraits began to chatter. They would lean forward to the front of their frame, adjust their spectacles and then when they realised it was me, they would smile.

“Miss Cufari! Lovely to see you.”

“Darling, would you please get closer so I can see you?”

“We must have tea tomorrow afternoon.”

Tova shudders, “I forgot you’re the portraits' favourite student.”

I nudged her with my shoulder. "Am not."

Tova rolled her eyes.

“Deny it all you want, but they managed to magic an entire fruit basket out of the artwork for you in fifth year.”

They had done that.

I greeted every portrait with a smile and polite bow as Tova and I walked to the Great Hall. The air smelt of braised lamb, mint jelly, and garlic asparagus. One of my favourites. I wouldn't have been surprised if the portraits had bribed the house-elves again.

Good ol' Dolly Erins, one of the portraits, sipped from her goblet of not-not wine. A countess imprisoned in her own portrait by her vindictive husband centuries ago, she'd since appointed herself unofficial gatekeeper of the Great Hall.

“The boorish Italian stalked down here earlier, Miss Cufari. The one with the staring habit and loose lips. Your gentleman companion.”

Tova’s fist clenched.

“Relax,” I put my hand over hers.

Theodore Nott spotted me first when Tova and I sat down at Ravenclaw’s table. His throat was working uncomfortably.

A folded scrap of cloth floated over my head, drifting down as though carried by an invisible breeze. Tova was too engrossed in a debate with Anthony Goldstein to notice. I grabbed it and held it under the table to read.

Theodore wanted to meet me after dinner, in the supply room adjacent to the Viaduct Courtyard.

After I wiped my mouth one last time, I told Tova that I was going to get some fresh air. She hesitated, but when I gave her a sad upturn of my lips, she relented.

“Didn’t think you’d show, in all honesty.” Theodore started, he was avoiding my eyes by testing out a new assortment of inks. He had them lined up by opaqueness, starting with the lightest periwinkle shade and brushing it over a beige parchment. “How are you faring, Cufari?”

I sat down next to Theodore, crossing my legs slowly.

I smoothed out the pleats in my skirt.

Theodore wiped the nib of the quill in a thick rag, the periwinkle soaking into the fabric. He dipped into the ocean blue colour next.

He swiped the blue next to the periwinkle, the quill glided over the paper from the fluid motion of Theodore’s hand.

“I’m doing good.” I picked up the periwinkle bottle, inspecting the ingredients list. “How are you doing Nott?”

“Average,” he replied, draining the colour onto the rag again. “The Great Hall seemed perkier today.”

I set the bottle down on the desk, a small clink of glass against wood.

“I wonder why.”

Following Theodore’s pattern, he’d moved onto a phthalo green shade, and I picked up the ocean blue. Different potency of ingredients compared to the periwinkle colour from earlier.

“Me too.” Theodore agreed.

“It surely doesn’t pertain to anyone’s absence, or someone’s return, you don’t think?” I said.

Targeted.

Theodore’s swipe of colour onto the paper halted, his hand freezing mid stroke. A bead of phthalo green ink pooled beneath the nib before soaking into the parchment.

He sighed, setting the quill on top of the rag that looked like it had been used for something more creative than colour-swatching.

“Blaise.” Theodore whispered.

I didn't exactly need to ask which Blaise.

Theodore picked up the quill again, his pinkie finger absently worrying the peacock feather at the end.

“He’s…been different. Since Tuesday.” Theodore continued, “Blaise is…he’s very…”

Theodore’s voice trailed off, his mouth souring. The deep crimson he picked up next smelt of rust and oranges.

“Take your time.” I paused, “It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

It was true. Tova would probably be asleep by the time I got back, miniature Snitches circling the mobile she'd hung over her bed six years ago. I wasn't in any hurry.

“Cufari, what’s more tragic, in your opinion? Tell me honestly. To love or to be loved?”

My breathing hitched.

Nothing would’ve prepared me for this question.

I let it hang in the air.

To love or to be loved?

I'd never thought of love in terms of tragedy before. Loss, yes. Grief. Fear. But tragedy?

My first instinct was to say to love. Loving someone meant giving them the power to break your heart simply by leaving their world.

Then again…

To be loved was to become someone's greatest fear without ever asking to be.

I looked at Theodore, who had abandoned his swatching. His brown eyes stared into mine.

I tried not to croak as I replied.

“Either way, the lover, at their core, is always the one getting hurt.”

Theodore nodded.

I glanced down to the parchment.

Theodore's crimson ink had spilled from the nib. It had bled over everything, soaking through the parchment and staining the desk beneath it red.

“I don’t have to be a skilled Legilimens to put pieces together, Nott. I understand the what. I’m missing the why.”

“Why now? Why you?” Theodore asked.

I shook my head. “I guess the more accurate question is how.”

“How does Blaise Zabini find himself with you as his Boggart? Not you rejecting him, walking away from your relationship with him, or something cheap like that—but you leaving him in such an irreversible way.” Theodore took the rag and made circles on the table to clean up the ink. He dropped the cloth and the parchment into the bin beside him. “You’d have to ask Blaise that yourself.”

“Help me, Theodore. Please.” I said.

Theodore stood up, the chair scratching against the floor.

He looked to the door, then back at me— sitting cross legged on the uncomfortable chair of the supply room.

“I can't. Cufari... if Blaise even looks at you again, I'm afraid he'll do something worse than breaking his wand.”

I tightened my hands over my skirt, gripping the fabric.

I was close to swallowing my tongue, chewing the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste iron.

“And what is that, Theodore?”

“He’d find a way to disappear for good.” Theodore rolled his shoulders, putting an arm across his chest to message the joint. “I've never seen him like this, Cufari. Not about his mother. Not ever."

“Why?” My voice cracked. I felt like a child again, in all the worst ways possible.

“Didn’t you say you already knew the why?”

Theodore gave one defeated shrug before slipping out of the supply room.

He’d left the assortment of inks in a row on the desk. Ink soldiers.

***

“Last night I dreamt about Blaise again.” I began, ducking my head in front of Madam Pomfrey.

The older witch nodded, urging me to continue.

“It was the Boggart scene again, but instead of throwing his wand, he cast something on himself.”

Madam Pomfrey's hands stilled where they rested on my shoulders.

"Um…" I sniffled, dragging my sleeve beneath my eyes. "It wasn't good." I swallowed. "I don't... I don't really want to say it out loud."

“The dream changed?”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded.

She exhaled, “That’s the fourth time this week, Miss Cufari. Are you certain you don’t want Headmistress McGonagall to—”

“I don’t want her to Obliviate it. Or take it away,” I cut in, rushing the words.

I kept hoping the dreams would give me insight into Blaise. Give me something to latch onto. Something to gain purchase on—some way to understand why I'd become the fear of his worst nightmares.

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

“Miss Cufari.”

I blinked.

“The malediction is likely intensifying your dreams.”

“Ignore the malediction for just a moment, Miss. Just—interpret the dream.”

“I'm not a master of Divination, Miss Cufari. Nor do dreams fall within the scope of Healer training.”

I sighed.

Professor Trelawney hadn't helped, and neither had Professor Vector. Both insisted it wasn't their place to assign meaning to someone else's dreams.

I was no closer to understanding Blaise than I'd been the day his Boggart looked back at me. Staring at me with my own eyes.

***

Even though I was afraid, I kept finding things. Little things. Things that told me Blaise was around. He refused to let me see him, but somehow he never stopped seeing me.

The first of which was fig perfume left at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room. No note. Just a simple pear shaped bottle with a delicate bulb at the end of the spray top. Tova had rolled her eyes when she saw it on my vanity. “You know that’s expensive, right? You’re posh but not exactly bathing in Galleons, Cufari.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t bought it myself.

I’d caught a cold, and I found a Pepper-Up Potion on my seat in Charms. No one had seen it arrive there. I uncorked it, and it was warm. Freshly brewed. He’d been there only moments earlier.

I saw him everywhere. Not him entirely, but pieces. A polished black Oxford vanishing around a corner. The ends of dark curls disappeared through a doorway just as I reached it. Long fingers, fingernails trimmed neatly, releasing a library book onto the returns trolley before I arrived. The echoed warmth he'd left behind on the desk I would occupy moments later.

Blaise was everywhere without letting himself be seen by me.

If I asked anyone, they’d say they’d seen him down a hallway, through a corridor, or stalking along the paths. I, on the other hand, couldn’t see what they were seeing.

If I asked Theodore, Blaise had just left.

If I asked Draco, he'd been in the library an hour earlier.

If I asked Pansy, she'd passed him on the staircase.

Even Tova saw him at meals.

"There," she'd whisper, nudging my arm.

I'd look up.

The spot would already be empty.

Tova would frown.

"He was just there."

Everyone saw Blaise.

Everyone except me.

He’d completely changed his class schedule. Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed murkier without him. Without his muttered Italian cursing, or complaints that Professor Danglars didn’t know what he was doing.

I kept catching myself turning to make some sarcastic remark to him before remembering there was no one there to hear it. Or to loop my fingers with his under the desk.

Maybe if I just stayed still, frozen in place. I’d catch him. I could talk to him. Make sense of it. I started lingering longer after classes, arriving earlier to lessons. Taking my time walking through hallways. If I stayed still long enough, perhaps the rest of Hogwarts would move around me. Perhaps Blaise would finally have nowhere left to run.

I stayed in the library until Madam Pince threatened to throw me out with her own two hands.

And every bloody time, I’d been there seconds too late.

Until either I had gotten good at waiting it out, or Blaise had been too tired to stay quick on his feet.

I had finished writing an essay for Transfiguration, about shifting shoes into keys and locks. But, when I got to the library’s looming doors, I found that I’d left my robe on the chair I’d been occupying in the alcove.

I went back for it.

Muttering to myself about carelessness, I turned back. The library was almost empty. The windows hadn’t been closed yet, still bringing in cold air and whipping the curtains around. The sound of fabric rustling against itself was comforting.

I stopped breathing.

I stilled.

I tried not to make a sound.

I tried not to let my hammering heart burst from my chest.

Blaise was there.

He had folded my robes into a neat square. His thumb traced the embroidered Ravenclaw crest. Then, he made a strangled face. He frowned at it. As though remembering I wasn't supposed to belong to him.

Torn between disgust and fondness, his fingers tightened in the fabric. For a long moment, he simply stood there.

Then, giving in to something he'd been fighting for weeks, he brought the cloak slowly into his arms. He drew it into his chest and hugged it. Tight.

Blaise buried his face into the hood. He inhaled so deeply I wondered if he was getting any air at all. I remembered how the fig perfume stayed on the wool of the robes for hours after I’d initially applied it.

Then his shoulders shook.

Once.

A single tremble was all he allowed himself.

He closed his eyes.

"Mi dispiace," he whispered into the fabric.

"Cuore mio."

A shaky breath.

"Vita mia."

His forehead rested against the hood.

"Anima gemella."

I don’t know Italian. But I understood the tone of voice. I’d heard hundreds of versions of that tone. It’s the kind of thing you hear in hospitals. I knew what Blaise called me when we parted from a kiss. Or when his hand slipped to my neck and pulled me in for another.

But to me, he hadn’t been whispering at all. It was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.

My hand raised into the air before I told it to stop.

My arms begged me to wrap around him.

I wanted the distance between us to stop existing.

I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to apologise.

That whatever it was that he thought he’d done to me, I’d forgiven him already. All I wanted him to do was stay. I wanted him to stay. Be with me instead of disappearing again.

Whatever crime he thought he'd committed against me, it hadn't made me love him less. It had only made his absence from my life unbearable.

I wasn’t afraid of him. I never was. But my throat constricted tighter.

Theodore's words came back.

Bitter and unfeeling. And unfair.

If Blaise even looks at you again, he'd find a way to disappear for good.

Theodore had to be wrong. I refused to believe that the man I'd sat with beneath snowy alcoves, daydreaming about our life after Hogwarts, would disappear from me.

I missed Blaise.

I wanted him back.

I needed him.

“Blaise…”

Blaise didn’t look at me.

He shook his head.

My eyes welled with tears.

“Please.” I begged, “Blaise, please. Please.”

My voice broke on the second plea.

His shoulders tightened.

When I sniffled again, he cracked.

Instead of leaving, like I'd expected him to, he finally stayed.

His fingers loosened, and my robes pooled soundlessly on the floor.

He went rigid.

My words seemed to strike him one after another.

His head bowed.

A ragged breath escaped him.

One hand came up to cover his mouth as though he was trying to physically hold himself together.

He failed.

He stepped toward me, his hands finding my waist with a gentleness that trembled beneath desperation. He lifted me and sat me on the edge of the table built into the bookshelf.

Then he wrapped both arms around me.

He hugged me.

I cried into his neck.

“Why'd you—why'd you leave? You... left me alone, Blaise. Why did you do that?” My voice was scratchy. “How could you? I thought you said—” I wrapped my legs around his waist, trying to bring him closer. “I thought you loved me. So why did you leave me? I've been so worried. I—I haven't been sleeping.”

I slid my hands into his hair and pulled him back enough so I could look at him. He looked worse than I expected. Each new observation I made about him made my stomach lurch. The whites of his eyes, gone bloodshot. His hair, usually soft—now dry. His lips were cracked instead of plush. Someone had stolen my Blaise and replaced him with this hollow version of him.

I nuzzled into his neck again, keeping my hands in his hair.

“I’m so mad at you. Everything you did—I don’t understand. That wasn't you. It wasn't. It couldn't have been. Blaise…say something,” I pressed my face harder into him, lips over his pulse, “Say anything. I missed you.”

“I can’t,” he murmured into my hair. His voice sounded scraped raw, as if he hadn’t spoken in eons. “I can’t be yours. Cufari—you’re everything. And I’m going to mess this up.”

I moved my hands from his hair, cupping his face instead.

“Stop that. Don’t you dare.”

"You saw." His eyes squeezed shut. “I couldn't get to you. I—I didn’t save you. I threw my wand. I got angry. I couldn’t even go to you and do anything. Fucking Tova had to fill the empty space I left.”

I rubbed my thumbs over his cheeks.

“The Boggart thing didn’t mean anything to me,” I protested.

Blaise’s jaw tightened, “You can’t say that!”

Realising he’d raised his voice, he scowled. Not at me, never at me. At himself.

“It proved exactly why I’m still a failure.”

I frowned, “You’re…you’re not still on about last year?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!” Blaise argued. “I tried getting the damn snake off you—and you still got hurt.” He swallowed hard. “I cast an Unforgivable Curse at you.”

That wasn’t how I remembered it. I only saw Blaise trying to get the snake off me before it ate me alive. The first spell he cast shocked the snake, but in his fear, he went in again with something stronger—the Crucio. It misfired. Landed on me.

I never held that against Blaise. The Cruciatus Curse demanded intent. The only way the Cruciatus Curse truly worked was if the caster meant it. Blaise hadn't wanted to torture me. He'd wanted to stop the snake. It would be impossible for him to hurl an Unforgivable Curse at me.

His voice shattered. “I put you through a fucking Crucio.” He tried to hide his face. “I hurt you worse than anyone ever has, and you cannot say that isn't true.”

“You were saving me. You didn’t cast it at me, the snake—”

“You have a blood malediction now!” He grimaced. His next statement was mumbled, “You’re never going to be the same.”

“We’re managing it. You’ve been helping. It doesn't hurt anymore.” I lied. It hurt every morning. It stung every time I looked at the scars of the fangs in my thigh. “The antidote is working.”

“Every day you have to live with what happened to you.” He laughed once, bitterly. “How am I supposed to ask you to spend the rest of your life with the man who did that?”

***

BEGINNING OF SEVENTH YEAR

The train was filling up quickly. I dragged my trunk behind me with two hands. I hadn't taken my reading glasses off yet, I’d gotten too caught up in trying to finish my copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that Tova loaned to me. She had amassed such a range of literature that I considered her my personal library. Infinite length of loans, no technical due dates with her.

Each compartment had people on both benches, until I found myself in Slytherin territory near the back of the train.

Then I saw Zabini. He was sitting alone reading a book. I shoved my anxieties down and opened the door, lugging my trunk into the compartment.

“Cufari,” he greeted, barely looking up from his book.

Struggling to get my trunk up onto the rack I let out a breathy, “Hullo Zabini.”

“Do you require my assistance?” He asked, setting his book down on the bench next to him. He craned his neck to get a better angle at what I was doing exactly.

I climbed onto the padded bench, “No– I,” I grunted, “I should be good.”

Even so, Blaise caught me by the hips before I could lose my balance. When I wavered, my elbows buckling, he removed one hand and reached above me to finish sliding the trunk onto the overhead storage area.

I dusted my hands off and turned around. I felt heat rise in my ears as he looked up at me. His hands lingered at my hips, thumbs moving absently.

He cocked his head to the side.

“When did you get cute Cufari?”

My eyes went wide and Blaise smirked.

I pouted, “I’ve been cute Zabini. You just didn't have eyes until today apparently.”

“And a tease?” He laughed, “Where have you been my whole life?”

“Sitting at the table adjacent to Slytherin,” I explained with a loose shrug.

He shook his head, eyeing how I was still standing on the bench, “You want down?”

“Yes, please.” I tapped my hands on his shoulders. The fleece of his jumper was soft, which surprised me. I brushed my hands over his shoulders again, getting a better feel for the fabric. Merino, if I had to guess.

Blaise paused.

“And what do you think of me?” He asked, his hands moving up from my hips to my waist. He stepped forward, his face at about my chest level.

I bent at the hips, putting us eye-to-eye. He leaned back so our faces didn’t bump.

“You’re alright. Nice eyes. Defined nose.” I assessed. “You're decent. Zabini.”

He shifted.

His hands went to the back of my thighs as he lowered me carefully until my shoes touched the floor. I was flush against his chest. Neither of us moved away. His hands ran cautiously over my shoulders before they went down to the small of my back. There was a brief heartbeat before I could feel him interlock his fingers behind me.

I didn't realise it sooner but he smelled like fresh espresso.

My eyes went to the book on the bench that he had been reading. Embossed on the cover was an image I recognised, Château d'If…from The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Are you more like Edmond Dantés or The Count?” I asked, steely in my gaze that was locked on his. I wiggled my nose to push my reading glasses up further.

Blaise’s eyes almost glittered with amusement.

“Unsure. You’re Haydée though, for sure.”

I grabbed his chin in between my fingers, inspecting him and moving his head around. The corner of his mouth perked up, and a dimple made itself at home in the side of his cheek.

“What do you think, Cufari? Who am I to you?” Blaise asked, his other dimple was deeper, more boyish on his features.

“Blaise. You’re Blaise.” I said.

He patted his hands at the small of my back approvingly.

“Correct,” he slid his hands up my sides, following the curve of my arms until he was holding both my hands with his. “What chapter are you on?”

I had to think for a moment, then I answered. “Chapter 92.”

“I’m on Chapter 100.”

I sat down, and Blaise released our hands as he went back to sitting opposite of me in the compartment.

“Do you want to buddy read?” I asked.

Blaise let out a breath, “That only benefits you, Cufari.”

“It’ll be good to jog your memory, c’mon, Chapter 92. I’ll read the first chapter and then you read the next.”

“Maybe we’ll finish the entire thing by the time we reach Hogwarts.” Blaise mused.

I smiled, taking out my copy from my satchel.

“Now, wouldn’t that be something,” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose again and flipping to where I had the bookmark placed.

The train chugged into motion, and within the hour, we had arrived at Chapter 102. The second I finished the last word, the trolley lady came around.

Blaise raised his eyebrows in a quick ‘let me get this’ gesture.

He blocked the entire doorframe, talking to the trolley lady, I peeked over from under his arm in the small gap.

I placed a Galleon on the cart, “Just a sugarquill please ma’am.”

Blaise turned sideways, and I stood up straight again.

He took the Galleon from the top tray and played with it—rolling the Galleon over his knuckles. Then shooting a Zabini-coded polite smile at the lady, he said, “Two sugarquills, on my tab.”

The lady handed them to Blaise, and he shut the door. He placed the Galleon in the palm of my hand and then set the sweet on top.

“When you’re with me, Cufari, I take care of you.”

It didn’t sound like it was up for debate.

I licked the quill, “Then what do I do for you?”

Blaise didn’t have to think at all.

“You take care of yourself as well. And tell me whatever you need.” He leaned back on the bench, “Now, I’m Chapter 103, yes?”

I nodded, resting my head on the glass as I listened to Blaise read out-loud to me.

The view was great from the Hogwarts Express. Rolling hills and green grass. I liked watching Blaise more, as his finger followed along with where he was reading. How he needed to squint sometimes to see the dialogue tags. But the best of all, when he read ahead silently in his mind so he could lift his head just enough to catch a glimpse of me.

***

Tova hummed, “How are you doing Cufari?”

I tapped my stomach. I was lying on my back on my bed, the four posts were decorated with sheer navy and bronze drapings. I kept bouncing my foot that hung off the side of my bed.

“I’m…okay.”

Tova knew what that was code for.

She stood up, her sketchbook ignored on the sofa in our dormitory.

“Let’s go for a walk, fresh air to clear your mind,” Tova tugged at my hand, pulling me up. “Mattias will take you flying if you ask nicely.”

Flying.

Mattias would probably say yes before I even finished asking.

I didn’t want Mattias.

I wanted Blaise.

We ended up at the Quidditch pitch anyway. Mattias was doing lazy circles in the air, swinging his bat aimlessly.

He spotted Tova and I meandering into the field, and he swooped down.

He hovered a foot above the ground, his boots brushing the tops of the grass.

“To what do I owe the honour of entertaining my twinny, and my twinny’s most adorable friend?” Mattias grinned.

Tova put a hand on my back.

“Cufari needs a distraction from her emotionally constipated ex-boyfriend.”

I frowned.

"He's not my ex-boyfriend, Tova," I said automatically. "We talked about this."

Mattias swallowed thickly, rising more into the air.

Tova grabbed the front of Mattias’s broom and pulled him back to the ground with an oompf from him.

“I think you’re confused, Cufari.” Tova frowned too, “Blaise has been radio-silent for the past month.”

He had been silent.

He kept doing things for me.

Things no one else noticed.

Blaise had left notes for me in classes, borrowed words from Alexandre Dumas and our other favourite authors. Blaise made sure I always had Dittany for the scars on my thighs, leaving it in my Potions cubby. He put sugarquills in the frames of my favourite portraits, so when I went to talk with them, I had a treat.

After the library, Blaise said he needed some time. I said I’d give it to him on one condition. We’d talk again on May 1st. Tomorrow.

“I know it looks like a break-up Tova, but please, just—don’t worry about it.”

Mattias started scratching the back of his neck.

Tova rolled her eyes, “Get on the broom.”

“No, I’m good.” I asserted, “You can go though.”

“We came here for you to get air. Not for me to badger my brother.”

Mattias had become a third-party observer, his blue eyes darting from Tova and I like we were in a tennis match.

“Get on the broom.”

“No.”

I took one step backward.

Tova rolled her eyes, caught me by the sleeve, and marched me straight toward Mattias. She all but deposited me behind Mattias. I kept as much physical distance as possible from him.

When he kicked off, he grabbed my hand and pulled it around his waist.

“You’ll need to hold on to me, Cufari. Can’t have you falling.”

I reluctantly held on, bringing my other arm around him as well.

We climbed until the clouds felt close enough to touch. The air was crisper and cleaner. The grey of the clouds became more pale and white from up in the sky. Down below, they’d looked almost ominous and foreboding.

Mattias leaned backwards, his back now firm against my chest and stomach. I shuddered, leaning backwards to keep polite distance from him.

“Look at this, watch the rays.” Mattias lifted a finger and pointed where a gap in the clouds formed.

When the rays beamed through, I went wordless.

Mattias started to whisper, “Call ‘em God Rays. The scientific name for them is crepuscular rays. Those shafts of light between clouds.”

The beams found every opening in the clouds, spilling across the sky in long columns of gold.

Mattias must have sensed my budding curiosity, “Here.”

He guided us closer to the ray and reached into it, his hand slicing through the column of light. When he pulled it away, the beam knit itself back together.

I copied the motion, wiggling my fingers in the light.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah.”

“I’ll return you to Tova now, you good?”

I reached out to the ray of light again.

“Just a moment longer, is that alright?”

“That sounds good to me.” Mattias nudges my forearm with his elbow, “Over there, there’s a wider ray, wanna go?”

“Yes.”

***

My foot wouldn't stop bouncing. He'd said he'd be here by three at the latest. It was already half past. My fingers traced the edge of a glass display case as I waited.

Blaise stumbled into the Trophy Room with blood at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the cuff of his sleeve.

I gasped and rushed to him.

Blaise collapsed into me before I could say a word. His weight sagged against my shoulder, and a small, broken sniffle escaped him.

My voice came out two octaves too high.

"Blaise?"

He mumbled something into my shoulder.

"Blaise... what happened?"

He looked up and smiled.

His teeth were stained with blood.

My heart sank.

I sat down with him on the floor and took a handkerchief from my pocket. Wrapping it around my forefinger, I gently wiped the blood from his teeth. It mixed with his saliva, turning the cloth pink.

He let me ease his mouth open with my other hand cupping his jaw.

"I ran into Goldstein." Blaise hiccupped. "Said he saw you with Mattias Eyring."

I suspected Anthony had slipped him a drink. It wouldn't have been the first time someone looked the other way because Anthony was hurting.

“Mattias...” Blaise continued. His teeth were all clean, and I found the cut on the inside of his lip but avoided touching it with my handkerchief. I tucked it back into my pocket. “Doesn’t cast Crucio on you. He probably…” Blaise muttered, his chuckle sour in all the wrong ways, “...fucks better too.”

My stomach twisted.

“Blaise, I went to Mattias to see the sun rays. Tova forced me. I wished it was you the entire time.”

His heart skipped a beat, “You did?”

I pushed his hair back, “Yeah.”

He looked into my eyes. Hope flicked across his face before it curdled into panic. He scrambled up, creating a huge gap between us. I watched as he sobered up with a realisation only he’d made.

“How can you even stand me?” Blaise accused, like it was something shameful. “How can you bear to be with me?”

I slowly raised from the floor, resting a hand over his heart. It was thumping sporadically under my fingers.

“Blaise, I love you. How many times do I need to say that?” I put my other hand behind his neck and brought him down to rest his forehead on mine. “Hey, look at me, do you remember what you said on the train last year?”

He shook his head.

I rubbed the back of his neck lightly. He put one of his own hands over the top of mine. His bottom lip was quivering.

“You said that I needed to take care of myself. To tell you what I want or need.”

Blaise nodded.

“And I want you. And I want you to let me help. Stop disappearing on me, Blaise. I’d give you the entire world if I could. Let me carry some of this too.”

His hands went into his hair and squeezed. He heaved, the words coming out shaky, “You deserve the best. I’m nowhere near that.”

I pulled his hands out of his hair before they ripped anything out. Pursing my lips, I went back to soothingly rubbing the back of his neck.

The cut inside his lip split open again. A thin line of blood gathered at the corner of his mouth. I reached up instinctively.

“How did you get these cuts Blaise?” I asked.

He laughed once. The sound stung me.

"Because I don't know how to stop." My hand froze against his cheek. "I'm not...I'm not good, Cufari." His eyes dropped to the floor.

He was good.

He takes another shaky breath.

"You keep looking at me like I'm someone worth loving." His shoulders trembled. He scrubbed both hands over his face before I could stop him. "I'm not gentle. I'm not patient… I get angry so quickly."

He stared at the blood on his knuckles like it belonged to someone else.

"Goldstein mentioned Mattias. And I knew you were only flying. I knew.” His jaw flexed. "And somehow I still couldn't stop picturing him touching you." Blaise removed my hand at his cheek and looked firmly at me. “One second Anthony was talking and the next…all I saw was Mattias. I don't even remember throwing the first punch."

The admission seemed to hollow him out.

I inched closer to him, interlocking our fingers and set our conjoined hands over my mouth so I could kiss the back of his hand.

I whispered into his skin, “I need you to promise me that you’ll come find me next time. Before you do things and regret them.”

"He wasn't the person I was angry with." He looked at me then, absolutely devastated. His voice dropped to almost nothing. "Neither was Mattias—it was me. I was angry because if someone else can make you happy then they probably won’t make you cry the way I already have.”

"And then..." Blaise swallowed. His fingers curled against his palms. "It got really messy, Cufari."
I stayed quiet. "Anthony gave me another sip." His eyes flickered with shame. "I knew I shouldn't have." He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I kept letting myself get worse."

I glanced toward the Trophy Room door. We needed somewhere quieter than walls of glass and gold.

I hooked my arm with his, moving toward the exit.

“Can we go to the Hospital Wing? We’ll get you some Dittany. You can sleep there, I’ll sit next to you. You just need to—”

Blaise cut me off, "I saw you in his bed." The words came out like they hurt him to say. "I saw him making you feel safe. I saw him being everything I keep trying to be and failing at. And I hated him for it. Hated him for existing. Mattias didn’t do anything wrong, you didn’t do anything wrong—I just—I wanted to hurt him." The confession barely made it past his lips. "Really hurt him."

He shook his head, "And I don't understand how something that loves you can turn into something that wants to destroy things. I felt it crawling through me like venom, Cufari." His eyes lifted to mine. A shudder ran through him. "And all I could think was that I was no different from the thing that bit you."

"Blaise—"

"Don't tell me I'm wrong."

His eyes were red.

He stepped away from me again. Like my hands were something he wasn’t allowed to reach for. His fingers dragged through his hair.

“After the Boggart…” His voice shook. “I was so ashamed. My wand is covered in fucking tape because I couldn't even control myself for five seconds.”

His eyes flickered toward the floor. I stayed silent.

“Do you know what that looks like to me?” He asked, “It looks like my mother. I keep telling myself I'm different because I don't hurt people the way she did. She always said she loved them.” His voice cracked. His deep brown eyes began to shift, more like the sienna coloured ink from Theodore’s stationary set. “She said she was only trying to keep them safe.”

The word seemed to disgust him.

“Keeping them safe,” he repeated it like it tasted poisonous. “And fuck, Cufari...” His breathing turned uneven. “That's what scares me.”

He looked at me. His face, a striking picture of stoicism, turned brittle and afraid.

“Because sometimes I understand it.”

I flinched.

Blaise reached out and grabbed my arms, pulling me into him again.

“Not the killing. Not that. Never that.” He shook his head quickly, searching my face for a sign. Some microexpression in my nose, or eyebrows that I wasn’t afraid of him. “But the wanting. The wanting to put my hands around something precious and make sure nothing can ever take it away.”

“I want to keep you safe.” He paused, swallowing. He wiped his face harshly. “And sometimes my brain twists that into wanting to keep you mine.”

His voice broke.

“But that's not love. I don’t want you to accept that from me—that’s a cage.”

I rushed to hug Blaise, burying my face into his neck. His entire body shook against me.

For a moment, he didn't move. Like he was afraid that if he held me back, even that would be too much. Then his arms wrapped around me. Carefully. Like he was holding something fragile that he was terrified of breaking.

"I want you so badly it isn't even normal."

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Blaise’s Adam’s apple bobbed, "I memorise everything about you."

His fingers curled into the fabric of my robes and my throat tightened.

"And that scares me."

I pulled back slightly to look at him.

"Why?"

Blaise looked away from me.

He clenched his jaw.

His eyes returned to mine.

"Because knowing you makes me want more." His jaw tightened. "Then some part of me twists that into wanting to own you." His expression crumpled. "I know you're your own person. I love that about you. But I still hear her voice telling me that's how it starts."

His hand pressed against the small of my back, slipping under my jumper because he needs skin to remember I'm real.

"Hey, Blaise, I think you need to sleep and get some water. You're not in the right space to be talking about all of this with me right now," I kiss his cheek, "Let's pause for a minute. Okay?"

He started panting. "Pause? Space?"

I realise he's focusing on all the wrong words too late

His hand stilled. Not because he understood—but because he didn’t.

"Space?" The word came out small. "You need space from me?"

"No, that's not what I said."

But he was already somewhere else. His eyes had gone distant, like he was replaying every moment he thought he'd failed.

"Right."

He nodded once.

Too quickly.

"Of course."

"Blaise, look at me."

He didn't.

"You said that before,” he whispered.

My brow furrowed, I tried to keep my tone still and unwavering, "Said what?"

His chuckle was painfully quiet.

"That you needed me to stop disappearing.” His hand on my back scratched gently, his nails leaving the faintest crescent against my skin, “And now you're asking me to go away."

"I'm asking you to sleep because you can barely stand." I said.

This wasn't about what I had said. This was about what he was afraid I meant. I took his face in my hands.

"Listen to me."

His eyes finally met mine.

"I am not asking for distance because I don't want you."

His breathing stuttered.

"I am asking you to take care of yourself because I want you here tomorrow. And every day after that too.”

My thumbs brushed away the tears on his cheeks.

"I want Blaise. The one who tells me when he's scared instead of disappearing. The one who lets me love him back."

His voice came out broken, "Even when I'm like this?"

I nodded.

"Especially when you're like this."

He seemed unconvinced. Blaise had spent so long believing love was something you earned by being useful that he didn't know what to do when someone offered it while he was falling apart.

"Water first," I whispered.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, Blaise looked like he remembered where he was.

"Will you come with me?" He closed his eyes.

I smiled.

"I wasn't planning on leaving."

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Blaise had moved in with me and my family when school ended. That didn't stop my parents from going on holidays without me and him, leaving us alone most of the time. My dad had a particular appreciation for globetrotting.

I’d already finished brushing my teeth when he came into my room with a towel around his neck drying his hair.

Blaise glanced at me sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes, sitting up more in my bed, “C’mere. Grab the stuff.”

He smiled at me, dimples deep on his face. When he came back out of the bathroom he had the jar of leave-in conditioner and the bottle of jojoba oil, the towel was now secured around his neck with a few small hair ties.

Blaise settled between my knees on the floor without me having to tell him. He unscrewed the lid of the conditioner as I kept a hair tie in my mouth, parting his curls into sections. I looped the tie around one section, it stood up like a Pygmy Puff perched on his scalp.

Setting the jar on my knee, Blaise wrapped his arms around my calves and hugged them. He pressed a kiss to my other knee. Then he kissed it again, harder, a smacking sound came from his mouth when he pulled away.

I dipped my fingers into the jar and rubbed it in between my hands and started to massage the conditioner into his hair.

Blaise let out a soft moan.

I tapped my foot against his thigh, “Woah there, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

He bit my knee in retaliation before loosening his jaw just enough to mumble against my skin, “I want to eat you, you’re delicious Cufari.”

I nudged my foot against his side, “I haven’t finished my book yet.”

I capped the conditioner and poured some of the jojoba in my hands before running my fingers through Blaise’s tight curls.

He involuntarily moaned again, dipping his head back into my lap.

When I finished saturating the product, I didn’t quit massaging his head, I went on for a few more minutes. Blaise was running his hands over my legs, alternating where he pressed kisses on my knees and thighs.

“Blaise,” I groaned, “I need to wash my hands now.”

Blaise pulled the towel off from around his neck, “I’ll take care of it, love.”

I set my palms face up in front of his face and he wiped them off. My hands were still faintly oily, though not enough to bother me.

Blaise took the oil and conditioner back into our bathroom. When he came back out, I was stretching while I laid down on our bed. It was nearly nine and my arms begged to extend out like a cat’s after laying in the sun for a nap.

Blaise grinned at the sight and climbed into bed with me, burying his nose beneath the hem of his oversized jumper where it had ridden up over my hips and tummy. He fitted himself between my legs, one of his hands sliding up and down my thigh. He managed to skip over the scars, he’d already memorised where they were.