Blaise wasn't one to have many confessions cloud his mind. For the most part, he prided himself on having no blackmail worthy material looming over him. But he found himself recently thinking and thinking and possibly over analyzing the fact that he played Quidditch as a reserve Chaser. A reserve on the team meant one never had to really play but it still meant being a part of the team and going to practices and learning all of the tricks of the trade anyhow.

It was a dare from some first year Slytherin whose name Blaise had long forgotten to try out for the team. He confessed (and this was one of his few dark secrets that nobody but him knew; Blaise had made sure this secret would never be found out.) that he didn't even put any effort into the tryout. He even wore his favorite forest green silk shirt, knowing that he wouldn't get in if he wasn't dressed for the part. Despite the lack of visible effort, he had defied all logic and any preconceived notions by having made the team.

When Blaise wrote home about this exceptional event, his mother (who loved having a reason to brag enthusiastically about everything and anything Blaise ever did) was elated to know he made the team. Even if he was just a lowly reserve Chaser, he was still a part of the Quidditch team nonetheless. If Blaise actually liked Quidditch, he would have tried to find some reason to get angry about being just a reserve. Since he didn't, he was thankful that he didn't really had to play. He was able to get away with rarely showing up to practice and not pay any attention to the practice if he did.

…Until the first match of the season arrived with an unexpected surprise: the Slytherin team's best Chaser was out do to a potentially life threatening sickness that occurred last minute.

"Zabini!" The Captain barked, expecting Blaise to arrive the second the reverberation of his name hit his ears. Blaise dreaded the announcement of having to play for the team, since the facts of the sick Chaser became ingrained in everyone's mind almost immediately.

"Yes, sir?" Blaise asked as politely as possible. He stood at attention in front of the Captain, keeping his stance even and his mouth from spewing angry things for what was to come.

"You're playing this game. Get ready," and with that, the Captain turned around. Blaise cursed wildly.

The pre-game tension was chokingly thick. Although Blaise worked perfectly fine under pressure, he never understood the tension that came before a Quidditch match. He was bored by the spectacle of cheering fans and hated the sport in general. He only cared about Quidditch when Draco played and the fun of cheering for Draco was instantly drained when he was out on the field.

Merlin, why won't this game end all ready? Blaise thought while getting ready to start playing.

With his thoughts bogging him down, he didn't notice the bludger, which he was supposed to keep away from his own goal so the other team wouldn't score. When he made eye contact with said bludger, all he could think before it hit him square in the face was 'Hello, what am I supposed to do with you?'

He woke up feeling like he could barely breathe and with the sound of a rhythmic, buzzing sound, as if a broken musical instrument made a nest in his eardrums.

"You're awake," Madame Promphrey's voice echoed in his mind and he was suddenly aware of the world around him. The once fuzzy world sharpened into visions of the hospital wing. He hadn't been here since his first year when he threw up after the welcoming feast.

"What happened?" He asked to affirm his suspicions of being hit during the Quidditch match. His question ended up sounding like a gargled whisper.

"You were hit in the face with a bludger, which broke your nose and both of your cheek bones, then you fell a few hundred feet to break your leg. You also have various scrapes and bruises along the way, since you did fall pretty hard. Surprisingly, you didn't get too hurt considering the circumstances," was the calm explanation. He almost didn't want to see his precisely constructed face alls scraped up and broken. Blaise trusted Madame Pomfrey to fix his face back to its original, glorious state. "Mr. Zabini, you have a visitor," Madame Pomfrey said. It was Theodore Nott, the boy in his year that was always so solemn and always seemingly pondering something profound.

"Hey," the other Slytherin said quietly. "I just wanted to check on you." Theodore kept his gaze away from Blaise's, either from general embarrassment or fear of looking into the face of a broken Slytherin.

"I'm glad you did," Blaise said in his new found gargled whisper. He suddenly felt a bit better, as if a weight was removed from his chest. Both Slytherins remained silent for a few moments.

"Once you get out of the hospital wing, tell me if you need anything," Theodore offered and then exited the wing just as quietly as he entered.

When Madame Pomfrey declared Blaise fit to leave the hospital wing, he was all too glad to do so. The first thing he was going to do was quit the Quidditch team, no matter how disappointed anyone would be. Blaise's first mission then was to find the Captain and hand in his informal resignation.

"You're finally out of the hospital wing!" The sudden and seemingly very loud voice startled Blaise, but when he got a look at the person who said it, he calmed down. It was Theodore, just as quiet as he was when he met Blaise in the hospital wing.

"Yes, I am." Blaise said. They were silent for a few seconds.

"What are you doing?" Theodore asked.

"Finding the Quidditch captain. I'm quitting."

"Why is that?"

"Playing doesn't interest me. I'd rather watch." Blaise began striding to the Quidditch Pitch. Theodore followed.

"I can come too, right?" Theodore asked once he caught up the fast walking Blaise.

"Sure, I guess. Although I have no idea why you'd be interested." Theodore shrugged.

"It's not like I have anything better to do."

On the way back to the Slytherin common room, Blaise's thoughts flickered back to Quidditch. He was utterly convinced that the Captain would put up a huge fight and try to keep Blaise on the team. Instead, the Captain let him go without so much as a word. Theodore, who struck Blaise as the type to not be impressed very easily, was just as shocked as Blaise.

"You'd think the Captain would be more reluctant to let go of a teammate…" Blaise mused, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"I agree! And since the team this year seems so short on players," Theodore added.

"I never got that feeling from the team. Then again, I never really paid much attention." Blaise said, with a yawn. "It's getting late, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Theodore." There was a flicker of unknown emotion in Theodore's eyes when he said "Goodnight, Blaise," and walked off to his own room.

A/N: I honestly hate how the ending turned out but alas, nothing turns out perfectly.