Blaise Zabini never acted without thinking. It was a habit that had served him well all his life, particularly now that he'd been Sorted into Slytherin House. It was not an inclination he wished to discard.

And yet...

The problem was, he had nothing to act on. All he had were vague suspicions that felt more like a thick mental fog than anything useful. Clearly, something was wrong with Harry Potter. But what that something was, Blaise hadn't the faintest.

The childish laughter last night after curfew had been only the last event in the string of several perplexing actions. The way Harry's voice changed sometimes. The way he palled around with Granger, the swot in Ravenclaw with too much hair and too many books. The times Blaise could have sworn there was someone else behind those slightly befuddled green eyes, someone watching him with an intensity that bordered on creepy. Even the way Harry's handwriting changed from class to class, sometimes sprawling and messy, other times neat and cramped.

But there was nothing truly concrete, nothing he could really point to and proclaim its oddity to anyone else, and it frustrated him.

Even now, as he walked to Potions with Potter, who looked grainy-eyed with exhaustion and kept fidgeting with his fringe, Blaise realized that something was off. His friend's voice was pitched just a little too high, particularly with his overall state of tiredness, and his eyes were downcast, not up and peering around like they normally did.

But what could he do? He trusted the Headmaster about as much as he trusted a dead newt. Professor Snape? But his Head of House would want proof, and as of yet, Blaise could give him none.

So instead, he resolved to watch and wait and see what happened. He would figure out what lay behind those cloudy green eyes and ragged mop of black hair if it was the last thing he did. A Zabini did not give up.

~*~*~ 

The system was not having a good day.

For one, they were utterly exhausted and felt like the body could topple over at any moment, soundly asleep. What little sleep they'd gotten had been broken and filled with nightmares.

For two, somehow, the nightmares had stirred up Kitten. She kept pacing inside, looking outside with her customary seductive pout firmly on red-stained lips. She didn't want to wait until they were alone to come out. She wanted to meet the Professor. She wanted to have fun. If she couldn't have fun at Hogwarts, she wanted to go home. Uncle Vernon would provide her with all the fun she wanted, and the thought of that made everyone else feel sick.

Let me out, she insisted for the nth time. Raven was currently the one fronting, doing her best to write her Potions notes legibly and not fall asleep drooped over the table. Professor Snape would kill her if she did that. She'd already seen what had happened to a hapless Gryffindor first year when he'd had the misfortune to doze off. In the middle of the lecture, Snape had stalked over, dropped a handful of very heavy books right next to the boy's head and informed him icily, when he'd leapt up in fright, that he had a week's worth of detention.

No, Tom stated, just as firmly back. He was at his wits' end with the sultry teenager. She couldn't be allowed to front, he knew that. Her appearance couldn't be hidden, and there would be far too many questions. But she was wearing on the frayed edge of his last nerve.

All right, he finally said when he could control his temper enough not to shout at her. It wasn't her fault that she was bored and wanted an outlet. She was used to coming out every week at the barest minimum. And she'd accustomed herself to things that made even him feel sick.

You can come out this evening, when we go down to the lake, he continued. As long as we are by ourselves. Do I make myself clear?

Perfectly, Kitten said, pursing her lips in a flirtatious manner before sauntering off to her usual corner. Tom rubbed his forehead and sighed. He was getting one wicked migraine...

Thankfully, Raven's fearful predictions of falling asleep in class did not come true, and they actually managed a fitful nap before dinner. Although Blue ended up the one out to pick at it with the edge of her fork and hover nervously at the end of the bench, no one else seemed to notice Harry's slightly odd behaviour. Even Blaise seemed distracted this evening, having an animated conversation with a third-year Ravenclaw at their table.

Good, Tom sighed in relief. It made it that much simpler to slip away for a bit of private time outside. When they had finished their dinner and slid off the bench and out of the Great Hall, no one noticed they'd even left.

No one, that is, but the regularly hawk-eyed Potions professor.

~*~*~ 

Kitten sat down underneath a slightly bent tree and sighed in pleasure, kicking off the already worn and slightly tattered boys' sneakers with a wince of disgust, and letting her bare feet luxuriate in the grass. It had been forever since she'd gotten to come out, and it was pleasant this time, being by herself. She so rarely was. And Uncle Vernie, as she affectionately referred to him, usually preferred her in either the cupboard or a dusty corner of the basement. Not outside, with the cool night air and the gentle rustle of the leaves.

Unbuttoning the first several buttons of their uniform shirt, Kitten leaned back against the tree, content to simply lie there and soak in the sight of the sun setting over the lake. It was beautiful, and Kitten liked beautiful things. Even Uncle Vernie had picked up on that. He'd once gotten her a vivid pink headband and a matching lingerie set, stuffed in a brown paper sack and thrust into the cupboard when no one else was looking. It had made her squeal in delight as she'd tried the things on. They still fit all right, even though she was in such a painfully small boy's body, instead of her own. It's like he'd known. A warm blush suffused her cheeks at the memory and she stretched, feeling every muscle across her chest and back twinge.

Everyone else was still at dinner, so Kitten had the whole lake-side to herself. Something she greatly appreciated, since otherwise, Tom would be after her to go back inside again. She scoffed, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. There was nothing wrong with her being out. She knew how to act appropriately. Well-mostly. She wouldn't embarrass them, if that's what Tom was afraid of. She was fourteen, after all.

"Why are you out here by yourself, Potter?" Snape's cold tones drawled from right above her head, and Kitten barely stifled a shriek of surprise, leaping back and scraping her back painfully against the tree trunk. The stinging pain kept anyone else from fronting for a moment, leaving Kitten on her own.

"Just wanted some peace and quiet," Kitten managed to reply, peering up at the man. He was more handsome than she'd realized, his profile quite austere, yet striking. She bit her lip in a frown at the realization she had nothing to work with in this body. Wrong parts, flat chest, scruffy black hair instead of the longer, flowing red she was accustomed to, and slightly shabby robes instead of her preferred short skirts and heels. It was entirely not fair, and she had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to hold back a few angry tears.

"Kindly find peace and quiet inside," Snape emphasized, slightly less harshly. "The perpetrators may have been caught, but no one knows if there are others who sympathize with them. It would be unwise to linger in deserted places alone."

"Sorry, sir," Kitten said, climbing slowly to her feet. She looked around for the detested shoes and found them a scant few inches away. "Sir, could you? Please?" She blushed as she placed her hands on his outstretched forearms, holding herself steady as she slipped her sneakers back on. His arms were warm, almost burning, beneath the sturdy black fabric, and she could hear her heart thumping painfully loud in her ears. As soon as both shoes were firmly on, she stepped back a bit, staring at the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing she'd seen in the world.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered and chanced a peek up. Professor Snape looked utterly baffled.

"To the castle, Potter," he finally said, and Kitten followed delicately behind him, her robes held up by one arm.