1 YEAR LATER

Hogwarts had long stopped feeling like home. How was I supposed to feel at home in a place where I was constantly being persecuted for something as insignificant as my bloo? At the beginning of the year I had been so tempted to drop out, like many of the other muggleborns had done but we, the Hufflepuff seventh years, had decided that someone needed to be there to shield the unsuspecting younger students. They were still too innocent to be subjected to the Carrow's torture and the rule of the death eaters. Now if only Potter would hurry back to the school.

Detention had long since moved away from washing cauldrons by hand and had shifted more towards writing lines with blood quills, interview under the influence of veritaserum and the likes of the cruciatus. The last few months at the school had increased my pain threshold to such as extent that I wondered whether I had become unfeeling. Only Slytherin remained untouched with none of the students ever receiving punishment for being disobedient.

That was the source of my arguments with Blaise who didn't understand why I was still in the school instead of hiding away. He didn't understand that I shouldn't have needed to hide away. Merlin, he hadn't even picked a side in this bloody war. His mother remained neutral – although her dislike for 'my kind' was as obvious as Snape's hatred for Potter. Blaise himself followed in his mother's footsteps and remained neutral as if this was something that he could be neutral about!

Helga, just the thought of it infuriated me. I took a moment to steady myself with a deep breath, curling my hands into fists at my side and reopening my blood quill scars which were just beginning to heal. Peering down at my hand with a grimace, I decided to stop by the room of requirement to get it healed by the hiding students.

I was pulled suddenly into an empty classroom and the instinct to get away came to the surface. We'd all heard the stories about what some of the more unhinged death eaters did to the students they dragged into abandoned rooms. My leg shot out, nailing my captor in the knee but he didn't move away from me. With a muttered curse, he pressed me against the wall with one hand and retrieved his wand with the other. My hand was there first, taking my wand from my pocket and shoving it into his jugular.

"Lumos," he muttered quietly. The light illuminated Blaise's features as he held me close to him.

I made no move to remove my wand, although my hand was shaking slightly. The hurt flashed across his features in a second when he realised I wasn't going to put my guard down; not even for him. I had no idea where his loyalties laid.

"Is this any way to greet your boyfriend?" he asked quietly, tense.

"You broke up with me the moment the death eaters came into the school and you realised that having a mudblood girlfriend made you a target," I reminded him forcefully, watching as he pressed his neck closer to my wand. It dug further into his skin, my hold on it faltering for only a moment. "Right now, you're just a boy who's dragged a girl into an abandoned classroom and we've all heard how this story ends."

"You don't need to fear me," he whispered, searching my eyes. "You've never needed to."

Raising an eyebrow, I forced myself to act braver than I certainly felt. When had things gone all pear shaped for us? "I've never feared you. I fear the people you've aligned yourself with."

"I haven't aligned myself with anyone," he thundered, making me jump slightly. "I'm not one of them."

I shook my head slowly, fingers aching from how tightly I'd gripped my wand. "I don't trust you." Even I could hear the lie in my voice, "Helga, I shouldn't trust you."

"I'm not one of them!"

"No," I agreed gently, voice shaking slightly, "you're much worse. You're on neither side so you're granted safety no matter who wins. It's cowardly."

His jaw clenched tight at the accusation and he grew cold at my words, "Bravery is for the Gryffindors."

"And loyalty is for the Hufflepuffs." Straightening up under his burning eyes, I lowered my wand to my side and reminded him quietly, "You might not actively promote the insane blood purity that they are Zabini, but standing by and doing nothing about it is just as bad."

"Zabini?" he raised an eyebrow, "When did we revert back to using surnames?"

"The moment we ended up on different sides."

"Do you even listen to yourself!" he demanded, "You claim that I'm neutral and then lump me with them."

"It's the same," I insisted, "To me, it's all the same. Every time I'm being tortured, do you think it matters to me that you're not the one doing it? Because it doesn't. Standing round and doing nothing about it is just the same as being the one to personally cast the cruciatus."

He searched my eyes for a tense moment, shoulders dropping as he realised, "And it's so easy for you to just cut ties with me?"

"What part of this do you think was easy? Suddenly having to act more courageous than I've ever been? Finding myself alone? Or suddenly being the target of a countrywide eradication scheme?" I hissed, "You cut ties with me. You were the one that decided that my filthy blood wasn't worth it –"

"Don't," he ordered firmly, a hand coming up to cover my mouth, "Don't call yourself dirty. Do you think I never regretted it? Do you not realise that by showing any affection towards you would have made you more of a target?"

"It would have made you a target." Refusing to be swayed by his words, I went to push him away from me but he held firm. I faltered, looking to him and asking quietly, "Did you? Ever regret it?"

"The moment the words left my mouth," he admitted, swallowing thickly as he grew uncomfortable under my eyes. "Did you hear about the traitor within Voldemort's circle?"

"I'm not giving you the name –"

"Why would I ask you for the name if I already know it?" His question stopped me short, "Draco's been pumping information out of Voldemort's inner circle since day one, but how do you think he's getting the information to the order?" I searched his eyes. I felt like I knew where this was going but I couldn't let myself become hopeful. Reaching into his pocket, he held something in his closed fist. Before he opened it, he looked back to me. "Do you trust me?"

"I shouldn't," I whispered, staring down at his hand.

"But you do." He understood, reading between the line. The relief in his voice was startling. Almost as startling as what was in the palm of his hands.

My hand reached out to pick up the galleon, recognising it as one of the ones used for the D.A. But how had he gotten it in the first place. Unless –

"Malfoy's been writing to you," I realised with a start, "and you've been giving the information to the order from the beginning." My bottom lip shook slightly as tears filled my eyes; how could I have been so wrong? "You've been on our side the entire time."

"Don't cry," he ordered, voice firm but soft as he brought a hand to my face, cupping my cheek. "This isn't time to be doing that."

I needed to apologise to him, I needed to make this right. How could I –

He pressed his forehead to mine as he said quietly, "Potter's planning to get back to the castle. This is all going to end tonight. You and the rest of your freedom fighter friends need to get the younger kids out of the castle before it starts. Use the passage in the room of requirement to sneak them into Hogsmeade. The adults in the town have been informed and are already placing the protective wards –"

"Blaise –"

"It's alright," he said quietly, bringing his head down to press a kiss to my lips, "It's alright, I understand. You've got nothing to apologise for."

"But –"

"If you really want to make it up to me," he proposed, smirking slightly and seeming more like himself than he did since the beginning of the school year, "then you better stay alive Valentine so you can pay me back in full."