Chapter Text
The human firsties don't avoid him. They don't get particularly close, and the part-human firstie is a tragedy unto herself, but two, two of the non-human firsties, now they actively stay out of his way. Skirt around him, and one in particular, now, he seems excessively wary of the other.
They both barely come up to his chest, and it's somewhat adorable. If only they came with less stress.
So, it's only a few days into term when Blaise spots the boy shooting subtle glances at the girl lazily warming herself by the hearth. He's not getting an ounce of work done, and when fifteen minutes go by of this, the fourth year decides it's now or ever.
"Take a picture and it'll last longer, believe me," Blaise says, amused at the squeak and near tumble the first years takes from the chair.
The boy stares at him, eyes wide and fearful. Oh, yes, this one can tell, knows how small he is. There's potential, potential to be as big and bad as Blaise could be. Just. Not yet, but maybe by the time he graduates.
"P-Please don't eat m-me," the boy stammers, quietly, and looks about ready to bolt.
With a once over, a lazy smirk finds its way onto the older boy's face, and he leans further over the arm of the sofa. "Mm, you're much too gamey looking for me," Blaise says, and then when the kid, and he thinks the last name was Bhagat, takes a relieved breath, adds: "Maybe once you're older, more blood, after all."
Except. That ends up being a very miscalculated move because Bhagat takes a heaving gasp, shocked, and it comes back up as a wheeze and tears of fright.
Ah. Too far. A joke in too bad a taste, and he makes to remedy that, an apology gracing the tip of his tongue-
"Y-You leave him a-alone," interrupts a shaky voice, and Blaise tips his head to side. It's the other first year. Khan. She looks near faint herself, but clearly determined despite it. "Just b-because y-you're bigger-"
The common room isn't empty, but it's almost curfew for the younger years, and the upper years don't really come down until they're gone. So, it's just Astoria and the Carrows off in a corner, studying, and Higgs also lounging by the fireplace with a book. Listening, no doubt.
Brace yourselves, he thinks, projecting the thought just faint enough, and straightens up from the back of the chair. Khan has barely a split second to widen her eyes before.
Blaise snarls, lets it build up easily from his chest, and his lips peel back from his teeth, eyes filming black.
The entire room seems to jolt, and Bhagat shoots right off the cushion, book and papers sent flying as he scrambles away.
Khan only falters, stumbles back a few steps. Her eyes are as round as tea cup saucers and suddenly a brilliantly vivid and yellow amber, pupils thins slits with fear. He can see the tremble to her tiny body, the way her throat works with a hard swallow, and his estimation of her rises just a notch.
The girl retakes the ground she lost. "Y-You don't s-scare m-me," she stutters, hands drawing to fists, and bares her own teeth with a faint hiss.
Oh, precious, a fighter. Refreshing. "Don't I?" he says, smiles around his pin needle teeth. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bhagat is a mess, face gone dull with fear as he shakily picks himself up. In equal measure to them both, Blaise thinks, the younger boy's eyes darting between him and Khan. Unsure of the bigger threat, surprisingly enough.
Khan's fangs glisten with beads of venom, an iridescent and pearl white against her dark gums. "N-No, you're j-just a b-bully."
Oh, but he does, he absolutely terrifies her. Just… not how he meant it.
Curiosity sated, Blaise is just about to back off, really, he was. The fourth year knows when to, thank you, but suddenly Higgs himself is there.
"Oh shove off, Zabini," the sixth year drawls, right hand dropping gently onto Khan's head. Protective. Yes, a serpent, and although he had surmised as much, a few things don't add up because.
Because what fears them? Hates them to this degree? Because, that is burgeoning and thoughtless hatred stirring in Bhagat's young eyes. It has to be nipped in the bud before one of them ends up dead, and Higgs knows that. This is half as much improvised as it is planned, after all.
This is shaping up to be quite the year, he muses, and smoothly arranges himself into something a little less looming, a little less hungry looking.
Blaise raises his hands in mock surrender and takes a step away from the chair. "I do so sincerely apologize," he demurs, eyes lowering just a tad to let the younger occupants of the room become at ease. Higgs won't fall for it, as he isn't meant to. "Name it, and I'll bring you two whatever sweet first Hogsmeade weekend."
Khan looks skeptical, confused, and Bhagat watery and bewildered as he stands, but Higgs ruffles the first's hair free from it's messy bun. "He's rich, so take him for everything he's worth, brats," the upper year encourages before turning away. He gives Bhagat a pat on his shaven head as he heads for the stairs on the heels of the Carrows and Astoria, tosses over his shoulder: "Zabini is an arsehole, but a nice one."
Traitors, he grumbles, maybe a little fondly.
The boy gives an indignant huff, and Khan whirls around, probably to say something scathing or another at the retreating sixth year, but it brings her face to face with Bhagat, and they both freeze. Like two predators stumbling over one another in muddled territory. Which, is probably spot on. Such sheltered lives they've lead.
Nearly forgotten, Blaise heads the confrontation off. "I don't know what it is between you two, but this isn't home, and not everything your parents tell you is exactly how the outside world works," he says. Their eyes are back on him then, both dark brown, with Bhagat uncurling and curling his hands at his side, Khan's fisted in the sides of her robes. Children. "If you both get exposed for something as petty as a rivalry, it's on you two."
Bhagat looks disbelieving. "But she's naga," he protests, weakly in Blaise's opinion. "And I'm Garuda, we can't—" He flounders for a moment, a loss at words. "We just can't," the boy finishes, lamely.
Blaise arches an eyebrow. "Khan here doesn't seem to think that way," he counters, and Bhagat turns a poor imitation of a disgusted look on the girl, who flushes, face darkening.
"I-I would not mind being friends," she admits, clearly conflicted about this turn of events. She's probably asking herself how they went from being harassed to being mediated.
It almost elicits a chuckle out of the upper year. "How about that," Blaise says, and Bhagat looks absolutely pained.
"You're not supposed to be nice!" he despairs, like the world is crumbling down by his ears. "You hate us and we hate you, so why—" Bhagat pauses, eyes going wide with some sort of realization. "Trickster! This is a trick, s-some, s-some sort of p-ploy!"
This is ridiculous.
"It is n-not!" she warbles in return, face drawn with indignation and not a little hurt. "I wouldn't do something like that, you, you overgrown chicken!"
Bhagat looks scandalized for all of one second before he snarls something, mean faced, and Khan rears back, jaws widening with a loud hiss.
Dear Morgana. "Okay," Blaise starts, drawing the word out, and stepping forward, "it's curfew time for you both—"
But then Bhagat is swinging first, arm suddenly thick with corded muscle and face curdling milk white with a hair raising rage.
Fuck.
Blaise is almost not fast enough to push the girl out of the way, and doesn't quite manage to dodge himself.
The boy's fist connects with his side, and.
There's an audible crack, soft tissue going mush, marrow splintering, and pain explodes up his side. The force of it spins him around, and Khan's horrified face meets his surprised own as he drops like a stone.
That… that was u-unexpected.
She scrambles over, clawed fingers clicking against the stone floor. The girl shrieks, words high pitched and unintelligible, and tugs at the fabric of his robes. It sounds familiar, but. Blaise really ought to continue his language studies. He'd maybe know a word or two if he had.
A strangled sob, somewhere out of sight. "H-He j-just jumped in the w-way! I didn't—"
It's nothing a little food won't fix. If someone would offer, or just go get someone or take him to Madam Pomfrey. He's not as hardy as a fully grown or even a full-vampire, but it would still take a lot more than this to kill him, and strangely Blaise wants to reassure the boy of that fact.
The itching fire of pulverized organs and shattered hip bone will drive home a very good lesson for Bhagat, for the both of them, in the end.
Blaise is going to take a nap right now, though. Once he wakes up he'll—