Where: Quidditch Locker Rooms
The water was scalding hot as it traveled in rivulets down from the crown of Draco’s flaxen head, down over his defined, yet strained muscles from countless hours of individual Quidditch practise. He winced slightly as they contracted painfully where the water hit his skin, letting his forehead rest against the cool tile of the showers in the Quidditch locker rooms. ‘This is all futile, isn’t it?”’ he wondered to himself, “There’s no way we’re going to win, even if I am working them like dogs, working myself even harder. What’s a Quidditch team with one skilled player? Its,...“Nothing,” he inadvertently spoke aloud, jumping slightly at the unexpected sound of his own voice. He had been rather uncomfortable during his practise, wary almost, as if someone were watching, calculating in the shadows; the feeling became so overpowering, so intense that he simply couldn’t stand it anymore, and quit early, just in time for late dinner.
Blaise followed without a sound. He had waited patiently while stalking his prey, watching with calm, set eyes as the boy practised the same few Quidditch plays over and over again. He almost found it amusing; he had never envisioned Draco to be a perfectionist about anything. The boy just seemed to apathetic to existence. Then again... so did he. And he was here, wasn’t he? As Blaise made his way to the entrance to the locker rooms, waiting about twenty minutes - enough time for Draco to complete most of his shower, which Blaise knew the boy would take (he was almost as bad as Chandler with such things) - he traced his fingers over the outside of his pocket, feeling for his wand and another object which he deemed would come in handy, a little something he ‘borrowed’ from the House Elves in the kitchens. He entered stealthily, going through the left door rather than the right, which he knew to creak. Blaise almost was almost frightened by how well he was able to prey upon unsuspecting people, almost as if he were a seasoned serial killer. He heard the showers turn off in one of the cubicles, blanketing the room with a thick, suffocating silence. He concealed himself in the shadows and waited.
Draco stood in the cubicle for a long while, remaining completely still. It was getting late. Perhaps he could have a proper dinner with the rest of his Housemates for the first time this year if he left soon enough. The thought was meant to be an appealing one, but Draco found himself not quite enthused by the notion. However, he reached down to turn the knob of the shower. His hand froze in midair... ‘What in the hell was that?” he thought anxiously, the tightness in his chest now due to anxiety, not muscle spasms. He waited for a good five minutes before moving again, but saw nor heard anything that unnerved him. ‘A candle flicker, probably,’ he said inwardly, in a weak attempt to console himself. He let his hand close around the shower knob, turning it off with a slight squeak. He grabbed the towel draped over the wall of the cubicle, wrapping it around his waist, and exited the showers. As he walked to his locker, he tentatively reached up to touch the left side of his jaw, wondering if it had formed into an unsightly bruise. “I’d murder him if it did...” he muttered aloud, realising that he had left all of his equipment at the showers’ entrance. He spun round to retrieve it, but instead stumbled backwards, breath catching in his throat. He thought for a moment that his heart had stopped beating in his chest, for he was staring right in the dark, glowering face of a lanky, tallish boy with a good fifteen centimetres hovering over him, the quiet yet strangely unnerving...“Blaise Zabini,” Draco said, voice choked and rather frightened sounding.
“Hello Draco,” Blaise said matter-of-factly, not hesitating a moment before reaching out and wrapping his thing, elongated fingers tightly around the blonde Slytherin’s throat. He panted heavily, more from anger than exertion, as he lifted the shorter, yet stronger boy from the floor and mirrored his actions from the previous night, slamming Draco’s back into the same set of lockers which Chandler’s had been slammed into, hearing the same wondrous crash of equipment that had rung through Draco’s ears not too long ago; and just had Draco had done, Blaise dropped the boy, but did not let his grip on his Housemate’s neck falter. He stepped closer, pressing his own body against Draco’s, as he had done so many times before with Chandler, except now the purest of anger flowed through his veins like liquid fire, rather than that of unadulterated passion and love. With his nose nearly touching the other boy’s face, he whispered, “It has come to my attention that you’ve had a little mishap with a very good friend of mine, poor, naive Draco...” he chuckled slightly, “In fact, the boy’s in a right state, rather bloodied up. Bruised like nothing I’ve ever seen. Until now...” Blaise reached into his pocket, pulling out a rather long, and in this case, rather menacing, butcher’s knife. “That is... I will be seeing such. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you.” With that, he brought back the knife, letting it graze past Draco’s face, and let it lodge into the wooden locker only centimetres from his ear. Blaise noticed the boy take a sharp intake of breath, preparing to scream. He leaned in closer to his face and whispered hurriedly, “Make a sound and I’ll cut you open from crotch to sternum.”
Draco had no time to move, to do anything before he felt the fingers clasp around his throat, cutting off a good deal of air intake. He gasped helplessly, wondering if this is what dying fish out of water felt like. For as of right now, he was certain this boy was going to kill him... There was a crazed look in frighteningly penetrating eyes, and Draco was seized with utter terror and confusion at what brought Blaise to do this to him... Until he told him about his ‘mishap’ with a ‘good friend’ of his. No doubt that good friend was Chandler Warrington. ‘The bastard probably put him up to it,’ he thought with bitter resentment for only a moment before the gleaming, dangerously long knife came into view. It came so close, so close... He opened his mouth to scream as loud as he could, scream for dear life, when the boy’s whispered words rung through his mind like a death sentence. His mouth was quickly shut.
Blaise gave the knife one good pull, dislodging it from the wall. He watched the blade with a fascinated sort of look on his face, as he lay it against the pallid skin near Draco’s temple. With meticulous movement, he let it traverse down the side of his jaw, slowly digging it deeper and deeper until it left a slash in its wake. “Do you want to bleed, Draco?...Because what I'm going to do to you if you ever touch him again will be far worse than any silly little Cruciatus..." he trailed off, the last syllable lingering slightly, as he allowed his knife fall to the boy's knee. Slowly he began tracing it upward, lifting the towel with it. Blaise chuckled darkly as he saw Draco's eyes widen with pure and absolute terror, "Or perhaps I'll throw a few of those in, as well, just to mix it up a bit." Blaise allowed the knife to slip away slowly, wiping either side on Draco’s bare chest, before tucking it back into his pocket, and exchanging it for his wand. “Petrificus Totalus,” he muttered, letting Draco fall to the floor as he moved swiftly, collecting the boys clothing and heading toward the door. “You’ll find these...” he reached into a pocket of Draco’s pants, and brandished his wand, “...and this... scattered about the Common Room. Ah yes,” he added as an afterthought, “Forgot one thing... Accio towel...” Blaise watched with vengeful delight as the towel whipped itself from Draco’s body, and fell on top of the pile of garments he was bearing. He looked the boy once over, snorting slightly and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose we all can’t be perfect... So long, Draco boy. Don’t you forget what I said...” and with that, Blaise exited the locker rooms, muttering a counter curse as the door swung shut behind him.
Draco hadn’t realised he could move again. He sat there, stark naked on the floor, not really capable of normal thought. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what just occurred, what just happened to him. But he knew he had been truly defeated, probably for the first time in his entire existence. He didn’t enjoy the feeling in the least, but he had no intention of fighting back, also for the first time in his entire existence. Nor would he tell a soul about this ever... and he knew Blaise - he shuddered to say the name - wouldn’t either. Now the only thing he needed to figure out was exactly how he was supposed to get out of here, into the school, and back to his Dormitories either without being seen or without being completely unclothed. As he sat up straight, something near the door caught his eye. He sighed heavily, studying the object for a long time. Then, without warning, he began to scream, scream in frustration, in anger, in humiliation... in defeat. The object... or objects, rather... was Hogwarts’ standard uniform for girls, complete with a gray skirt, white button-down blouse, and a yellow and black Huffepuff tie.