Brave New World

A/N: I want to thank everyone again for the great reviews. They are appreciated very much. Here is my next chapter, I hope you like.



Rated: M



Disclaimer: I don\'t own the characters or concepts of the Harry Potter verse. No profit was made from this writing.







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Chapter Fourteen



“Bloody Hell, Harry!”



The eruption was loud and furious. Ron’s face was twisted into a snarl of rage, his fists strained at his sides as if poised to strike out in retaliation. Given the display his magic had just put on the reaction wasn’t unexpected.



“Ron, please,” Hermione tried to placate but the redhead wasn’t hearing it.



“Did you forget whose girlfriend Hermione is or something?”



Harry grit his teeth against his own scalding wrath to avoid placing Hermione in the middle of an embarrassing scene. Rising on shaky legs, he dragged a resisting Ron back over to the circle of trees away from the guests so each could speak his peace.



When they were alone, he shoved Ron in the chest. “What is your problem? Do you have to behave like an arse all of the time or is this just for my benefit!”



“Me!” Ron looked positively appalled, returning the push with one of his own. “I’m not the bloke buying another guy’s girlfriend expensive presents. I’m not even going to ask about the thing you did with your magic. I just want to know why you have to shove the fact you have money in everyone’s face.”



“What does having money have to do with you humiliating Hermione?”



“Humiliating?”



“Yes,” Harry hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to over hear their conversation. “How do you think it makes her feel when you lose your temper in front of everyone? Over nothing!”



“I don’t think what you did was nothing. I think you showing off in front of everyone is a very big something.”



“Do you hear yourself? Do you ever try to think before you speak or do you believe that because we’re best friends I’m supposed to allow you to insult me every time you’re feeling insecure about yourself?”



“Ginny’s right, you have changed.” Ron snarled, rocking back on his heels and folding his arms. “And it’s not for the better.”



“Do you think you would be the same if your father died, Ron?”



“My father! What does my Dad have to do with anything?”



Harry closed his eyes and called upon every ounce of self control he could manage. It wasn’t easy, not when his hand was itching to smack some sense into the fool. “Sirius died, Ron.”



“I know that.”



Harry knew his friend wasn’t trying to be insensitive but given the precarious state of his own temper the sentiment wasn’t quite as settling as it should have been. Merlin, he was tired of making allowances for Ron.



“We were there. That’s why I don’t understand why you’ve been acting this way.”



“What way? Focused on my studies? Training for the War? When am I supposed to take the fact that Voldemort wants to kill me seriously? When he’s standing before me with his wand pointed at my head casting the killing curse?”



“No! That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re just not acting like Harry, the Harry who has been my best mate for five years.”



He could only close his eyes as most of the rage that had threatened to overwhelm him was tempered by sorrow. “You just don’t seem to understand. I’m not the same Harry. If I want to live, I can’t afford to be.”



“And what about the rest of us? Do we not matter? What are we supposed to do when you’ve changed so much? Are we supposed to just accept that you’re going to act like those Slytherins now? Primping in the mornings and throwing money around. And what about Quidditch? You act like you don’t even want to play this year. Where does that leave us?”



“Leave you? You might start by realizing not everything is about you!” He regretted the words the instant they were said. Any progress he might have been making was quickly tossed aside by the poorly spoken words.



“Oh, but of course. It’s all about Harry Bloody Potter, right?”



“What I meant to say, is that not everything I do is meant to affect you.” For some reason that only made Ron angrier. He threw his hands in the air, at a loss at how to communicate with the boy who had been his best friend for over five years. “What do you want from me, Ron?”



“You can start by not buying my girlfriend inappropriate gifts. That would be a big help.”



“I think we have different ideals of what is considered inappropriate.” Harry shook his head in annoyance. He shouldn’t have to explain to Ron that he felt nothing more for Hermione than the bonds of friendship. Even if he had, it was certainly disrespectful to Hermione to think she would commit herself to a relationship with one person, and then behave improperly with her boyfriend’s best friend.



“I bought her a necklace for her birthday. For five years Hermione has stood by me, through trials and tribulations that could have gotten her killed. Yes, she nags and she’s bossy. She has a mothering streak that rivals your Mum’s and she has major issues about rebelling against authority. But when I need her, she’s always been there. Even to tell me the things I don’t want to hear.”



This wasn’t exactly news, and if Ron was uncomfortable with the fact that Harry was bringing up issues that made him feel guilty, it was just too bad. It needed to be said. “I probably wouldn’t be alive if Hermione hadn’t stood by me, so if I want to buy her a birthday gift to show how much I appreciate her, then I will.”



“And what about the rest of us? Or shouldn’t I be concerned about another bloke buying things for my girlfriend that I can’t.”



“Oh, just shut up, will you? Shut up!”



“Wha-”



“You’re my best friend Ron but I swear I’m sick to death of you and your obsession with the stupid trust fund my dead parents set up for me.”



Blue eyes narrowed and hardened an instant before shifting away. Every thing about Ron became defensive, from his stiffened shoulders and stance to the way his mouth twisted into a near snarl.



“Being your best friend doesn’t entitle you to take your anger and insecurities out on me. Being your best friend doesn’t mean you can rail at me the way you do every time I spend a galleon.”



“You just don’t understand. How can you?”



“If I didn’t understand, I would have punched you out a long time ago.” Harry quirked a brow at the clear surprise on Ron’s face, hoping for once they could clear the air between them and get past these petty arguments over things he had no control over.



“Understanding is one thing. Just like I’ve changed, you’re going to have to grow up. There are so many things that have happened this year that I needed to tell my best friend but I couldn’t because I had to worry about how you would react.”



“What do you mean by that? You’re keeping secrets from us?”



“They’re not exactly secrets; I’m just not sure I can trust that you won’t overreact-”



“Trust me? Oh, you can trust me to follow you to the Department of Mysteries but not with these new so called secrets.”



“If you’re going to act the way you have every time I buy some stupid clothes, or a present for ‘Mione, well yeah.”



“I can’t believe you don’t trust me after everything we’ve been through together!”



“I know I can depend on you, Ron, I’m not saying that at all. But that’s just the thing; those are life and death situations. One day, I hope with all of my heart, there will be a time Voldemort isn’t such a big part of my life. What will happen between us then? The day I’m ready to buy a new house or if I decide on something in my life that you don’t necessarily agree with. What happens then? Will you turn on me like you and Ginny did this afternoon?”



“That’s different; you were talking about some dark magic rituals.”



“You know me Ron. Would I ever do anything to deliberately cause Hermione harm?”



“Mum and Dad don’t hold with the old ways, Harry. They’re too tied up in all those pureblood traditions and you know how our family feels about that. And then you want me and Ginny to go against what our parents believe and then to drag my girlfriend into it. And you say you haven’t changed?”



“I don’t understand what’s so wrong with them, Ron.”



“Blessings? Rituals involving who knows what? How can you not see what’s wrong with them. And none of our friends, no true Gryffindors would ever follow those beliefs.”



“Do you even know about the old ways Ron? Other than what your parents have told you anyway?”



“What more is there to know?”



Harry choked back a grunt of disbelief, “So you’re saying Neville is wrong. Or Padma. Or Susan Bones. Or Terry Boot, he’s not a pureblood and he believes.”



“Neville’s different. He’s so cowed by his Grandmother he wouldn’t dare go against anything she said. You don’t see Dean and Seamus going around doing it!”



“I don’t know about Seamus, or what he thinks, mostly because he hasn’t said anything but Dean he’s a muggle-born, he might not even know about the old ways. That’s how it is with most muggle-borns. And it’s not just purebloods; I’ve seen half-bloods in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the mornings.”



“Well I haven’t and they’re probably doing it in secret because they don’t want anyone else to know they’re involved in that stuff. And who told you about it anyway? I know Dumbledore didn’t, he’s a light wizard and would never advocate the old pureblood traditions. So who have you been talking to about this stuff?”



“It doesn’t matter,” he lied because telling Ron about Tracey was just asking for trouble. If he hadn’t read the book, he wouldn’t have found out about his family and Dumbledore wasn’t exactly the person to hold up as an upholder of goodness and truth after the things he had kept from Harry.



“Of course it matters; I want to know who is trying to corrupt my best friend.”



“Corrupt? Now you’re being stupid.”



“So if it’s so stupid, then tell me.”



“I can’t.”



“Why not!”



“Because it doesn’t concern you!” He roared, fed up with being antagonized. This was getting him no where. The argument had started with him trying to get Ron to see how immature he was being over something as pointless as money and then turned to things he wasn’t ready to divulge to his friends yet. This meant, he had failed and the conversation was becoming pointless.



When had he decided that talking with his best friend was pointless? Did they only focus on superficial things like sports and school with the occasional diversion into danger and saving the world? Wha would come of those quiet moments after the danger had passed? Would he find he had nothing in common with Ron anymore?



“Maybe we should just cool off and head back to the party. I’m sure Hermione’s worried we’re going to start brawling over here.” The forced brevity fell flat, as did the smile he tried to offer up in penance.



“What does that mean? Why don’t you trust me enough to tell the truth?” Ron pointed behind him to the other guests at the part and waved an impatient hand at the table where he had sat. “Could you tell Neville the truth? He’s a good little traditionalist. What is he your best mate now?”



“No but Neville is a good friend.”



“And I’m just tossed aside right? After everything my family has done, the things we’ve been through, you just cast us aside. You have no idea what it’s like being your friend sometimes. Last year you were all broody and angry and we are supposed to just forgive you but don’t give you exactly what you want and you cast us aside like rubbish.”



There was a small ring of truth to Ron\'s harsh words because he had behaved that way last year; he had dragged them into Voldemort’s trap. But he wasn’t trying to cast his friends aside; he just wanted Ron to stop acting so foolish about something as trite as money. There were things much more important. Ron had a family who loved him and couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that no amount of galleons could ever replace that.



“Do you have any idea how tiring it is to hear about the boy-who-lived? How I should be honored that such a powerful Lord is my best friend.”



“What did you say?”



“What?” He seemed to realize he had said something he shouldn’t have.



“What. Did. You say?”



“Nothing, I was complaining mate, that’s all. You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”



“Oh, we’ll get back to your complaints about the boy-who-lived, I won’t forget those. I’m talking about the other thing you said.” He frowned at the realization unfurling like poison in his gut. “You bastard.”



How could his so called best mate lie about something so big?



“I don’t know what you’re talking about Harry.”



His mind flashed over the years, the many conversations they had, all the way back to the first one where Ron had seemed so happy to be actually meeting Harry Potter, scar and all. To the way his family had welcomed him. Had it all been because of his inheritance? No, they were too sincere; it couldn’t have been all just a lie.



“Fourth year,” he remembered with a pang, “That’s when you changed. Started acting hateful. I could see not mentioning it when we were younger, we were kids and that kind of stuff only matters to prats like Malfoy. It was during fourth year when we returned to Hogwarts that had your knickers in such a twist.”



“Hey now, that’s not fair.”



Harry took slow steps forward, crowding into Ron’s personal space, and his magic sparking in tandem with the rage pulsing through his veins. “Why did you keep it from me?”



Ron stumbled back a few steps before raising his arms in defense and holding his ground. “Mate, I told you, I don’t know anything.”



“Who told you to keep it from me?” He grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down hard. “Who told you, goddamnit, WHO!”



“Harry mate, calm down, I have no idea,” the other’s voice trembled in desperation.



“The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.” He sneered quietly right in his face. “Is that ringing any bells Ronald Weasley?”



What more could Ron say. The guilt on his face spoke louder than words ever would. “I’m sorry,” Ron whispered, closing his eyes in surrender. Sickened, Harry shoved him away, not able to stand touching him any longer.



“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before now. You come from a pureblood family. Though you don’t hold to those ‘traditional values’,” he spat out. “Of course you would know. But the point is that you didn’t tell me. You knew I had no idea and you didn’t tell me.”



“Harry, I’m sorry.”



“I don’t want your sorry. I want to know why you never said anything. You know how desperate I’ve been to find out anything about my parents. My family!” He shouted, “Why would you keep something so important from me? Why damn you!”



“Dumbledore asked us to, alright. It was Dumbledore.”



It hurt, this betrayal, deeper than the insults and cruel words Ron tossed around sometimes without thinking, or considering the feelings he could hurt so carelessly. “How could you not tell me,” he whispered.



“Dumbledore came to our house the summer before fourth year. Right before we came to get you for the Quidditch World Cup. I kept asking why you had to live with your relatives, when you were a Lord. I kept remember those bars on your window and how they dressed you. I know my family is poor, and I couldn’t understand why you acted as if you didn’t even know you were the Lord of a great house.”



Ron might have understood his family was poor at eleven and he might not have appreciated it but he would have thrived in the loving home Molly and Arthur Weasley provided their family. Understanding about money was something most kids didn’t get until they were exposed to others who had it on a regular basis



Exposed to the bias of kids like Malfoy who teased and taunted.



“That’s when Dumbledore showed up. He asked us not to bother you with stuff about your house. Said it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with those kinds of responsibilities, especially when it was important that you stay with your relatives. You know how Mum is. She never would have hurt you on purpose. Dumbledore believed telling you would hurt you, so she made me promise not to say anything.”



Of course that’s the way Mrs. Weasley would react. She trusted Dumbledore to always do the right thing. If keeping the truth from him would protect him, she would agree because her mother’s protective instincts would allow nothing else. She was overprotective with all of her children, as if they were still eleven years old. Even Charlie, who worked with Dragons in Romania and perfectly capable of taking care of himself wasn’t exempt.



“Does Hermione know that I didn’t have a clue?”



“No. But she’s really careful not to mention it around you.”



“Bloody Hell.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, his magic needing release to hurt the ones who was causing him such pain and unsatisfied with his restraint.



“It’s not like that, Harry. She doesn’t bring it up because she thinks it’s too painful for you and that’s why you don’t talk about it. Dumbledore hasn’t said anything to her that I know of.” He shrugged, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Uh, Harry. When did you find out?”



“A few days ago. Blaise Zabini asked why I wasn’t wearing my ring and when I had no idea what he was talking about he told me.”



Dumbledore had taken a great risk in believing everyone would simply assume he knew about his family. He wouldn’t put it past the wizard to have carefully placed the word about that Harry shouldn’t be confronted about his family. He spoke with the Weasleys to ensure Ron’s silence because they were best friends. No one else at Hogwarts really knew much about his life. Even Snape believed a lie. No one would doubt the word of Dumbledore, as his reputation of a powerful and trustworthy light wizard ensured it.



“Zabini! Why are you hanging around that slimy snake? He’s probably just waiting to betray you to you-know-who when you’re least expecting it!”



“You know,” he began with a calm he did not feel, “For someone who has kept a secret about my life for the past five years, you really don’t want to start throwing words around like betrayal.”



“And you’re comparing me to a Slytherin? Well tell me how you really feel.”



He knew Ron wasn’t asking but he did anyway. “I’m pissed. That’s how I feel, Ron. Fourth year you treated me like shite over something I didn’t know about and didn’t have control over. And since then you still throw out the occasional snide remark.”



“I just-”



“I’ve heard your justifications and as much as I hate that you did this, I can respect that you didn’t go against the promise you made to your parents. I don’t like it but I respect it. If I’m capable of that, then you’re going to have to learn to do the same for me.”



“I do respect you.”



“Then it will be very easy for you to think before you speak won’t it because people who respect each other, don’t go around insulting their friends. I’m not excusing your behavior anymore.”



Ron nodded quickly, accepting his conditions. “Right.”



“Why don’t you head back over, the party’s almost over and ‘Mione looks like she’s starting to get worried.”



“Alright,” he turned to go back but stopped and looked over his shoulder, “I am sorry for not telling you Harry.”



He waved Ron away, giving a grin that he didn’t feel, needing time alone before returning to the others. Eventually he would have to think about what it meant that Ron could keep something so important from him and then use the hidden information as a reason to hurt him. Right now it was still too fresh, too painful, to know the person he trusted had betrayed him.



Yes, he was keeping secrets but they were his secrets, affecting only his life.



And after all he had learned, he was no longer surprised to uncover Dumbledore’s role. The man was so focused on saving the Wizarding world from Voldemort that he didn’t care the harm he was causing Harry. Voldemort had marked him as his equal and though Dumbledore claimed he wanted Harry to have a childhood before facing the ugliness of Wizarding society he went about it in the worst way.



Growing up as he had with the Dursleys, he should know better than to trust so easily. When he entered the Hogwarts, there had strangely been some small sliver of naïveté remaining. Despite everything he had learned and endured there was the small childish hope for acceptance.



Five years later, filled with good memories and bad, truths and betrayals, life and death his only regrets were the lives lost because of the secrets and shadows perpetuated to maintain this so called innocence. An innocence that was forsaken many years ago when a young boy was locked away in a cupboard under the stairs in the dark, crying for food.





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FSFSFS





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The last thing he should be doing with only thirty minutes until curfew would be standing in front of the Come and Go room trying to decide whether or not he was losing his mind for giving in to the urge to see Harry Potter. Daphne and Tracey knew him too well. He never would have come if they hadn’t placed the idea before him. As easy as it was for him to ascertain information, he had purposefully kept himself in the dark regarding the location of Granger’s Coming of Age party.



Now here he stood in the shadows watching the guests file out of the room, each one smiling as they murmured about how much the evening had been enjoyed. Grasped in each hand was a small crimson and gold bag containing the usual departing gift most likely. Blaise wondered what Harry had chosen to give. Given Weasley’s reaction to anything involving money, a traditional sweet that could be enjoyed later on.



“You should go see him.”



He glanced down into the wide eyes of Luna Lovegood, not bothering to wonder how the ethereal girl had inched past his defenses without notice. He wasn’t as blind as other Hogwarts students and could see a girl touched with the gift of sight who struggled to remain a part of this world and not the visions she was bombarded with.



“Perhaps.”



“He’s had a difficult evening, despite his denials. You might want to know, there was no Ceremony tonight.”



The murmured revelation gave him pause. Even for the short amount of time he had spoken to Harry about the party that night in the tower, he knew Harry had been excited. What could have happened to change all of that?



“And why would I find that information interesting?”



“Blaise Zabini finds all information interesting.” She answered in a sing-song voice. “But, I think he finds information about the Potter Lord even more so.”



“I don’t need rumors spreading, little seer,” he warned carefully. He meant her no harm but he wouldn’t allow others to know of his interest in Harry until they both were prepared for that knowledge to be available. “Mind yourself.”



To which he received a whimsical giggle that brought forth a small smile despite himself. It was hard to threaten the girl when she was the very embodiment of light. “I’ll always look out for Harrigan’s best interests. You should know this now.”



“What have you seen?”



“War. It comes. It brings death and blood.” Her voice gradually took on a faraway quality, the beginnings of an opaque film spreading over her eyes. The echo sent a chill down his spine. “Blood and death. Sorrow and pain. Unless things change Harrigan will fall. Fall alone. The end of the Lord.”



He gripped her shoulder giving it a brisk shake before she could fall completely into the vision. “How do I stop it?”



“Twelve must stand with Harrigan as the nexus.” She blinked, a tremor shaking her slim frail body. The iron control she imposed on herself impressed him immensely. Despite the fear in her gaze, there was strength and a steadfast determination to protect her friend. He did not need to hear the words to know she would be one of those twelve. “That’s all I know. That’s all I see. It’s all I’ve ever seen from the first moment he spoke to me.”



“When?”



“I cannot tell you what I don’t know.” She sighed, placing a hand on top of his, her visage falling once more into otherworldly lethargy. “You should go to him.” She repeated once again.



“Luna, there you are.” Longbottom called out, relief clear on his face as he started in their direction carrying two small gift bags. “Zabini.” He greeted with a slight incline of his head. Blaise could see the questions Neville dare not ask. Instead, the Gryffindor took Lovegood’s arm and tucked it gently into the crook of his own. “Let’s get you back to Ravenclaw dorms, Luna.”



“Of course, Neville. I did so enjoy the evening, especially dancing with you, though perhaps those wrackspurts could have been more considerate and left some cake at the end. It was quite tasty.”



“Zabini.” Neville said before turning to walk away. Ever the protective Gryffindor, Blaise thought with mild humor. Longbottom had come a long way from the boy who was terrified of Professor Snape. He would be underestimated due to his quiet nature, the direct opposite of the brashness of the Weasley brand of Gryffindor bravery. Blaise might not be as talented as Tracey in sensing ability but Longbottom had a rich magic that spoke of a long follower of the old ways. The Dowager Longbottom would have assured his education in the traditions.



Should he go see Harry? Before he could make a decision, Weasley and Granger exited the room absorbed in each other, though Granger at least had the sense to glance around to take in her surroundings. Years of dwelling in shadows would keep her eyes from his presence but not many at Hogwarts was as experienced.



“We should wait for Harry,” she said, looking back at the door that had yet to close. “I can tell something was bothering him. What did the two of you argue about, anyway?”



“Nothing,” Weasley shrugged, wrapping and arm around her shoulders leading her away from the room despite her lukewarm protests. “We should go spend some time alone. The party was fun but I wanted to spend the night with you.”



“Ron, I enjoyed the party. It was fun and we actually had a chance to spend sometime with Harry.”



“Can we stop talking about Harry for a while.”



The edge in his voice must have roused her suspicions even further, for she halted and stepped away from the boy who was trying to snuggle against her. “Now I know something is wrong.”



“Look, I just want to spend some time with you alone before we have to rush off for prefect duties and dealing with curfew. Nothing happened between me and Harry.”



“Well, alright.” She relented, her disbelief was obvious but her desire to spend that time alone with her boyfriend outweighed her need to know the truth. It was understandable, from everything he had observed about Granger, Weasley was probably the bookworm’s first boyfriend and that first brush of love tended to be powerful. Powerful enough that a friendship could be set briefly to the side. At least until the first glow dimmed.



Weasley and Harry had an argument, proven by the way the boy would stiffen whenever Granger referred to Harry. Even more obvious was he didn’t want his girlfriend to discover what the quarrel had been about as he probably had been the one at fault. Blaise might not like Granger’s personality or her tendency to smother Harry but when she discovered the truth, he didn’t pity Weasley her reaction.



He waited until they turned the corner before grasping the handle of the door before it closed completely and tugged it open. The warm aroma of flowers and trees greeted his senses as he took in the late summer evening Harry had created for Granger’s party. It was very beautiful and inviting, everything a Coming of Age ceremony should be. The door closed behind him and Blaise became aware of the music filtering into the air. It was a poignant Celtic melody, filled with haunting flutes and violins.



The man he sought stood before a small pond, a different sight than one he was accustomed to. This Harry stood confident in a rich tunic that lay temptingly across his lean torso and black trousers that emphasized the strength in his legs, the slimness of his hips. The wayward hair that was the Potter trademark was longer than his usual, falling forward to shield his face as he glanced down into the water’s depths. Drawn to him by a force he dare not name, Blaise halted finally at his side, not bothering to announce his presence for he knew Harry had known he was with him the moment he entered through the door.



“How was your celebration?" Luna told him Harry was upset but he wouldn’t assume anything. Instead he would allow the other the opportunity to divulge what he wished.



“There was no,” Harry stopped, running a hand through those messy locks before shoving it back down into his pocket. “It was good. Hermione enjoyed herself. That’s what was most important.”



“You don’t look very pleased.”



Instead of answering the unasked question Harry said, “Tell me more about the old ways, I know you follow them. You know Tracey gave me that book. I need you to tell me more about them, to explain why my friends had such a bad reaction to the Coming of Age ceremony I wanted to perform for Hermione.”



They had hurt him, Blaise realized, with their careless words and actions. They had taken something Harry was coming to believe in and lessened that joy for him. It was the reason children were raised with those traditions and why it was so difficult to find the path when you were set upon it late in life. It pissed him off because they hurt Harry.



“We believe magic is more than spells and potions. It is a way of life, enriched and blessed by the Divine. Magic is the very personification of powers and elements and it is only with the intimacy gained through trust that we can bond to the truest depths of our magic. A follower of the old ways seeks not only knowledge but connection with our magic through love, healing, sexuality, divination, and protection.”



“So why do they think only Dark wizards or purebloods follow the old ways?”



“Because, usually we are the only ones who remember them. It is the basis of the arguments against muggle-borns. They think Wizarding society is losing those traditions as we incorporate more muggle-borns into our world. That muggle-borns are indoctrinated with muggle superstitions and beliefs, and seek to impose them on other witches and wizards. When instead we should be teaching them instead, so our ways aren’t lost.”



“But Ron and Ginny come from a pureblood family,” Harry argued, “And they said their parents don’t believe.”



“I can’t tell you when the Weasley family parted from the old ways. They are a pureblood family but Harry you have to remember, the old ways go back several generations. They aren’t an Ancient family, so at some point, it is possible that a muggle-born married into their family and affected their beliefs. Or perhaps they were forced to stop practicing the old ways as a means of survival during the witch hunts.”



Blaise chose his words carefully, for he didn’t want to Harry to misunderstand. “I have nothing against muggles Harry. I can appreciate their world and the things in it but I’m a wizard and I belong here and they belong there. I would never want our kind to mingle because it is the nature of man to fear what they don’t understand. And how could they ever understand magic when they don’t have it. That fear can turn to anger and the need to destroy."



“But there are some Dark wizards who still practice the old ways,” harry gave him a careful glance.



“There are Dark wizards who don’t, just as there are light wizards who still do, like the Longbottom family for instance.”



“And Luna,” Harry murmured, nodding in agreement then falling silent again.



Blaise couldn’t say how long they stood next to each other simply gazing down into the water and enjoying the music and the ease of the others company. It was obvious his friends’ actions lay heavy on Harry’s mind but he hoped his words concerning the old ways were taken into consideration before Harry made any final decisions.



“I should thank you for telling me the truth.” Though quiet, Harry\'s voice was strong and his gaze remained on the pond. Blaise didn’t need him to explain what he meant for there was only one truth he had given Harry recently. Only one that would cause him so much pain. “Not many believe I’m entitled to that these days.”



Blaise didn’t know what to say, so he placed a hand on his shoulder in silent comfort to the melancholy aura Harry emitted. “When my father died, I was a mere babe. All I knew of him were the stories my Grandfather gave me, the memories my mother shared with me.”



They watched the pond a while longer, Blaise noting the small flickers of light that danced just beneath the surface. He wondered if this was something Harry had created or simply the magic of the room. Either way it’s beauty was soothing.



“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” A moment of tension bunched in the muscle beneath his fingertips, then relaxed. “My relatives told me my parents died in a car accident. My uncle called my father an unemployed drunkard and my mother a woman with loose morals. When my cousin wasn’t around, he didn’t bother with the pretty language and simply called her a whore.”



Harry turned his head to the side letting him see the vulnerability in his gaze. “That’s what I grew up hearing and then I turn eleven and I’m brought to the Wizarding world and learn they’re lauded as heroes. But there are more lies, only these are of a kinder nature, meant to be of comfort to me I suppose, until I’m old enough to handle the truth.”



A hand fisted in frustration, the muscle in his jaw clenching as he grit back what Blaise knew to be harsh words. “I just wanted to know my family. About where I come from,” the hand swept out in disgust. “Is that so much to ask?”



“No.” It was wrong that he was denied his heritage. “Perhaps it would have been better had I said nothing.”



“So that I could continue on in ignorance? The Wizarding world wants their Savior but only on their terms. Well I’m sick of it! I’m sick of the lies and the half-truths and outright deceptions. Why should I sacrifice myself for them!” He spat, jerking away and gesturing wildly. “What have they given me but malice and pain?”



“I don’t know,” he had no answers. But he could give Harry the truth his Grandfather had always told him. “Perhaps,” he closed the distance between them, taking both lean shoulders in his hands to stare down in verdant eyes swimming with pain and tears. “Perhaps because it falls to the strong to defend the weak. It is the responsibility of the Ancient and Noble Houses to protect all of Wizarding kind. We were not named so because of our wealth or position or the purity of our blood. We were named so because of our duty to magic and the Divine.”



“I’m not strong,” the Gryffindor\'s voice broke on those words. “I’m just Harry. Just me.”



Blaise grasped the sides of his face, smiling with an honesty only those who knew him best ever saw. “You are one of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever met.”



“I’m not.”



“If you trust in nothing else, trust in yourself, Harry. I know you’ve felt the magic within you.”



“Why are you here? What do you want from me?” He stepped away, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “Everyone wants something from me, so what is it that you want?”



“Ask me again sometime.”



Harry shook his head, “No, you said that once before. So I’m asking now. Tell me the truth.”



Blaise touched his cheek in a wistful gesture, wiping away the tear that had defied command to make its way down the side of Harry’s face. “Are you certain you want to know?”



“Yes.”



Fingers slid into thick hair, enjoying their silken texture against his skin, as he cradled the back of Harry’s head. Harry blinked, obviously torn with conflicting emotions. Hands came to rest against his chest, as though he would be pushed away but clenched briefly instead. Encouraged, Blaise allowed an arm to slip around his waist, tugging Harry closer and knowing they would fit together perfectly.



“What are you doing?” The shaky whisper was warm against his face. He could see the racing pulse at the base of Harry’s neck, betraying the nerves the Gryffindor was feeling.



Blaise tilted his head a little, his hooded eyes focused on Harry’s lips, brushed his against them, a light tease. He kissed him gently enjoying the feel of Harry’s mouth against his. He didn’t dare give in to the urge to kiss him as he would like. Hard and insistent. Devouring. Savoring the spice of him on his tongue. Sucking softly on that lower lip that was a sensual temptation.



He took advantage of the soft gasp of surprised pleasure Harry released. Just once, Blaise vowed, allowing his tongue one sweep into the inviting depths of Harry’s mouth. He tasted the hint of sparkling cider and soft mint lingering on his tongue. The breathless moan Harry released hit him straight in the groin, an unexpected punch of heat.



With a rough growl of frustration Blaise stepped away, sliding his arm free from the toned back he had been caressing. Harry opened eyes that were filled with a mixture of confusion and unexpected desire. A shaky hand touched trembling lips and though he looked like he wanted to say something, Harry didn’t quite find the words.



“Now you know.”