Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Crossover ❯ Blaise Zabini ( Chapter 20 )

Chapter 20

One of the first things any child born into a dark family learns is of their own mortality.

Blaise himself had known he would die one day, even before the concepts of pride, pureblood and family honor had sunk in. And well before mother, father and love.

The last one, in particular, was still tricky and in sore need of hands-on experience.

He had expected to die, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to do so before he even left Hogwarts. Before he even got to learn what life was all about.

That idea was now all too real.

He could see his own parents from where he was standing. Both were dressed in their finest Deatheater robes and were looking quiet smug.

Just this morning, and as he left for the station, his mother had given him a goodbye kiss and his father had given him the usual speech about making them proud.

Hours later, and they (along with their "friends") had tried to kill him.

The world had suddenly tilted on its axis and he had somehow landed on Perfect Potter's usual shoes.

Lets just say, loath as he was to admit it, that he was beginning to respect the Gryffindor.

The sudden opening of door distracted him from his thoughts, just in time to see the priceless expressions of his rather flabbergasted professors. He almost laughed, as he considered what their faces would have looked like, had they walked in on the battle that had just ended. Without a doubt, they would have been proud. Their students had put out one hell of a fight.

It hadn't been enough, though, and now many of them were laying unconscious under the care of their housemates.

Still, the professors were mightily shocked.

It was quiet obvious that not everyone could recognize a distraction when one popped up to bite them on the bum.

Voldemort stood up and began making a rather morbid welcoming speech (in other words: he gloated).

Frightened whimpers all around him distracted Blaise from the Dark Lord's rather boring words. After all, he had spent most of the last five years in the same dormitory as Draco Malfoy. He had heard enough gloating to last him a lifetime.

He looked around himself at the other boys, and found that more than half of them were about to (or already had) wet themselves in fear. From the rest (mostly Gryffindors and Slytherins, although there was the odd Ravenclaw and absolutely no Hufflepuffs), most were scared stiff.

Potter and some of those around him were oddly calm.

Across the hall, he could see that a similar phenomenon was occurring within the ranks of the girls, their calm center being Morag MacDougal and Potter's pet mudblood.

The sudden golden glow that enveloped the teachers took him by surprise.

As the light got to the point of being unbearable, he closed his eyes. By the time he managed to open them again, there was no trace of the teachers.

Correction.

Of most of the teachers.

Snape was standing there, as cool and smug as you please, looking for all the world as if Christmas had come early.

The Potions Master strode quickly towards his Lord, bowed deeply and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

The Dark Lord seemed rather miffed by the teachers' escape, but managed a maniacal sort of smirk for the Deatheater that had opened Hogwarts' doors for him.

Snape stood, and took his place at Voldemort's left, Lucius Malfoy calmly sitting at the Dark Lord's right.

The Deatheaters cheered and Malfoy, of all things, fainted.

Noise stopped at this, as Nott (a certified mediwizard) hurried to the blonde's side.

The puddle of blood that was noticeably growing beneath Malfoy's chair was a dead giveaway as to why the man was unconscious.

From the corner of his eye, Blaise caught sight of Draco struggling against Potter and those around them in a vain attempt to reach his father. Whatever they told him seemed to calm the younger blonde, and he reluctantly stayed put.

The Deatheaters hurried Malfoy senior out of the hall, leaving behind an unamused Dark Lord.

The man's attention was once again directed to the students.

-"As it seems you all like sortings so much, I've decided to keep up this remarkable tradition."

At a small signal, a Deatheater appeared with the Sorting Hat and a stool.

-"There is, though, a small difference on this occasion. The Hat has only three options: die, slave and live. Each of you will be "sorted". Slaves will be handed over to the free live students, if claimed by them. Let us begin."

The Deatheater that had brought in the Hat now had a thick roll of parchment in his hands. The man' mouth opened to call the first name and, in perfect synchrony, the doors opened once more.

Only two Deatheaters, Crabbe and Goyle seniors, had now returned from the group that had left to take care of Malfoy. Between them, there was a slender, petit boy, with shoulder-length brown hair, pale skin and dark eyes.

A soft distressed sound coming from behind him drew Blaise's attention, and he turned to an oddly familiar scene: several boys holding back another. There were several differences though, as this boy was a long-haired brunet, with angry violet eyes and a Weasley-red face. Blaise couldn't keep back a chuckle as another boy stuffed the first one's braid into its owner's mouth.

When he turned back to look at the Deatheaters, he found both men kneeling before their Lord.

-"My Lord, we found him in the infirmary."

Voldemort nodded at them and motioned for them to leave the boy there.

-"And what, may I ask, is your name boy?"

There was quiet a bit of scorn and amusement in the man's voice. The boy, though, simply looked back at Voldemort, obviously not knowing the danger he was in.

Voldemort was not happy with his silence. He raise his wand as if to curse the boy, when the other raised a hand in a "wait" motion.

The Dark Lord blinked and, surprisingly, lowered his arm.

The boy pointed at his own throat and shook his head.

Understanding dawned.

Several Deatheaters (particularly the Inner Circle) huffed as they realized there would be no cursing. After all, what's the point in doing so, when the victim can't even scream?

The students, though, sighed in relief.

And Voldemort's eyes turned towards Mister Braid-man and arched an eyebrow at him, the question obvious.

After a slight hesitation, the taller boy moved forward and stood beside the darker brunet.

-"My name is Duo Maxwell, and this here is Heero Yuy."

Hero?? What sort of parents had that kid got? Eccentrics, for sure.

An arched eyebrow in the direction of the Deatheater that had the list sent the man scurrying to find both names.

-"They. . . they are not here, my Lord. Must be some of those colonial children Snape was talking about."

Voldemort looked at the man in exasperation.

-"Then add them to the list and sort them, you fool."

The Dark Lord waited until the man nodded in comprehension before he let the curse fly.

Cruciatus was never pleasant, even when you were only a watcher.

He wondered if any of them would survive the month, let alone the school year, without feeling its effects.

Duo Maxwell had gone pale as he watched the Deatheater writhe under the effect of the pain, but Heero Yuy <AN: We all know how his name is spelled, even if Blaise doesn't so I'm gonna use it like this, `K?> remained oddly calm. It was almost as if he didn't see what was happening right before his eyes.

By the time the curse was lifted, the Deatheater looked almost lifeless, barely twitching where he lay on the ground.

-"Let this be a warning for all those that dare displease me."

Most of the students were quacking on their shoes at the prospect of the detentions they were sure to get in the future and what might happen during them. That is, if they were even alive. . . or allowed to take classes, at that.

-"Now, let us begin with the sorting."