“Blaise, Ron, lunch!” Molly called up the stairs.

“COMING, MOM!” Ron shouted back, coming pounding down the stairs. Blaise came more quietly behind as he always did, slipping into the kitchen in Ron's shadow.

Lunch was leftovers from the pot roast she'd made the night before, one she suspected Blaise hadn't liked. Knowing that he would eat everything on his plate – no more, no less – she served him a smaller amount of the pot roast and several large slices of the bread to soak the sauce up with.

He gave her a slight smile. “Thank you,” he told her as he always did, looking at his plate.

She frowned. What was she going to do with the boy? Seven days he'd been there, now, and he barely spoke a word. She suspected he spoke more to Ron, when they were alone, but still. The boy ate what he was given, spoke when spoken to, insisted on doing all of his own laundry – as well as theirs, if she turned her back from it - and spent any time she or Arthur were in the house in Ron's room or outside.

And meanwhile the rubbish went out without her or Arthur having done it – before they'd even woken up – and the kitchen floor never seemed to get dirty. And she never saw him do it it was just done. The boy was worse than a house elf. You could talk to a house elf. This was like living with the ghost of a house elf.

And the boy was going back to school today. It was time to talk to him, so that he could think about things before the Easter holidays only a week away. She imagined he would accept – as Severus had said, the boy clearly knew he was running out of places to go – but she couldn't help but feel a vague – disappointment, or sadness. Melancholy. She'd hoped that they'd be able to take the boy in, and see that smile, see the...gratitude, the joy, even if the boy remained shy.

But the more she got to know the boy – she didn't even think he'd believe her, let alone understand that she really meant to make him part of the family. He wasn't just scared – though that, too, was evidently there – he was almost cold. He responded to affection by turning into a fair imitation of a wooden statue. Could he ever learn to really be a part of their warm, loud, boisterous family? She'd have to teach him, but how?

“Blaise,” Mr. Weasley called.

Surprised, Blaise turned his head to look at his hosts, standing nearby where they'd stopped to see Ron off. His friend had already left through the floo. They were headed back to Hogwarts. What could the Weasley adults have to say to him, now? Unless they had something to say about the Easter holidays?

But Mr. Weasley evidently intended for him to come back and talk to him. Blaise made sure his face and body showed nothing more than polite curiosity as he left his packed trunk by the floo to turn back to the waiting adults.

“Come talk to us,” Mrs. Weasley said softly.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Blaise told her.

Mr. Weasley smiled in response, but it looked strained, and then he and Mrs. Weasley turned away from Blaise to lead him back into the den.

Not good, Blaise thought. Not good at all.

This looked a lot like the requisite “we're really sorry, but we are (having-a-major-crisis/just-getting-too-old/just-not-the-right-place-for-you) explanation followed by the “my (sister/cousin/aunt/good friend) what's-her-name is the nicest woman...you'll be so happy there with her...” speech. Apparently, he was going to be staying with Snape for Easter after all.

How had he gotten things so wrong, so quickly? He'd never been kicked out after only a week, before.

But then, he'd never fit into a family quite so badly as he fit into this one. If he knew that, already, there was no reason it should come as a surprise that they did, too. There didn't really have to be any specific incident. And it wouldn't do to let the Weasleys think they'd hurt him. It wasn't their fault. He kept his face carefully clear of any emotion at all besides continued polite interest.

“Blaise,” Mrs. Weasley said, a slight smile on her face. “It's nothing bad, hon, I promise.”

Or...he thought he'd kept his emotions off his face. No, he was sure of it. His face was absolutely blank – he was politely at her disposal, that was all. There was nothing to see. So why did she feel the need to reassure him?

And as to it being 'nothing bad'...he was sure that was quite true. There was no reason to be at all hurt or disappointed that the Weasleys weren't going to have him for Easter when he'd already known that Mrs. Weasley didn't like him. Living with Snape would be just fine. For as long as it lasted, anyway. And as long as the man had waited Harry out, he'd probably be willing to deal with Blaise for quite a while. That wasn't awful.

He hoped Harry understood, though. His friend still didn't quite trust that Snape actually wanted him, so to ask him to still trust when Snape took Blaise in just as easily, and Blaise didn't cause any trouble... but nothing for it. He had to live somewhere, and Snape was all he could think of. Unless Mrs. Weasley had already come up with something for him. Come to think of it, she probably had – she wasn't the type to just dump him at the curb.

“It's like this, Blaise,” Mrs. Weasley started. “We wanted to give you a little bit of a chance to get to know us and see our house before we asked, but we didn't want to let it go too long, either. We know it's hard for you, not knowing where you're going next...”

Uh huh. Blaise tuned her out, not really needing the explanation so much as needing to know what response was expected afterward. He'd find out where he was going when he got there. But then Mrs. Weasley stopped speaking, and Blaise realized that she was done, a lot quicker than he'd expected. He'd thought she would babble. Most women did, when they were trying to impart bad news. What had her last words been? He mentally rewound the tape, and this time actually listened. “Adopt you, permanently.” Her last words had definitely been, “...adopt you, permanently.”

Blaise froze. He didn't have a memorized response, for that. It took him a couple of seconds to even understand what she was saying, then to confirm to himself that yes, he really was sure that that was what she'd said. And then he stared up into her warm brown eyes, disbelieving. She was smiling at him. Was she nuts?

She didn't like him. He knew this to be true. She smiled, she was kind, she tried to treat him like Ron but...he was not Ron, and she frowned at him when she thought he wasn't looking. She didn't dislike him, but he'd worked his butt off all week and he had yet to please her.

“You certainly don't have to answer right away,” she told him then, smile fading a little. This time, he looked down but listened carefully, trying to find the catch, the reasoning...something to give him a handle on this. But all Mrs. Weasley said was, “....and of course you'll come for Easter, regardless, but we thought you'd like a more permanent home, and we'd be very happy to have you...but you really don't have to, we won't be hurt...”

She was nervous, Blaise realized. Talking that fast, the pauses – now she was babbling. If he wasn't careful, he was going to lose this. And he couldn't afford to. It could've been absolute hell there and he'd've accepted, through sheer self-preservation. The fact that he had a friend, here, and that the Weasley parents were actually kind to him...

“N-no,” he said quickly, interrupting her. “I accept. Please. Thank you.”

He couldn't manage to smile, but Mrs. Weasley smiled hugely, and to his surprise it actually seemed genuine. “Wonderful,” she said. “Welcome to the family, Blaise.”

Really? Heart pounding, Blaise finally managed the beginnings of a smile. “T-thank you,” he said again.

Welcome to the family. Really? Like, really, really? But...why? He couldn't believe it enough to even know what to feel. The whole idea made absolutely no sense. Sure, he'd worked hard for it, but he'd been certain that she wasn't really happy with him. Why would she make that kind of a commitment when she didn't have to?

Harry, he thought firmly. Focus on Harry.

He was back at Hogwarts, having been put through the floo by a...really surprisingly happy Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Now his feet had found the way back to the dungeons, and most of the way to Snape's office. He needed to talk to Harry. He really didn't want to chicken out just because the Weasleys had thrown him a curve ball in the interim. And Harry would be with Snape.

The door to Snape's office was an imposing one, solid oak with just a small plaque to indicate where it led, and a magical lock that kept all but Snape out. Well, Blaise realized suddenly, all but Snape and apparently Harry, since he'd been able to burn the place out. But there was no way to know if anybody was even in the room, since there was no window or other indicator.

Steeling himself, Blaise lifted a hand and nervously used the knocker, tensing when the device rang out loud, seeming to echo on the stone walls of the dungeon corridor. There was no noise from inside, but in a couple of seconds, the professor opened the door to frown down at him.

“Mr. Zabini,” he greeted. His tone was surprisingly friendly, though he didn't smile. “Welcome back. I trust your time with the Weasleys went well?”

Blaise controlled his wince as his stomach took a sudden hard twist. Adopt you, permanently.

“Very, sir,” he told Snape as steadily as he could manage. “Thank you.”

He owed the man a lot more than that, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to smile, or say anything else. To have not only found him someplace to go, but to find someone willing to commit to him like that, that fast – the man had worked a bloody miracle. He just wished he could be happy about it, instead of this – numb, sick feeling. But that was why he was focussing on his friend, first. Even if he felt like a robot – a robot wearing a Blaise suit and faking Blaise responses when Blaise really wasn't there in the room at all – he still owed it to Harry to apologize. And the only thing that could compare with losing his home would be to lose his best friend, especially now.

“May I speak to Harry?” he asked.

“He is grounded,” Snape told him forbiddingly.

But that wasn't – quite – a no. “...please?” he asked. “It's my fault...”

“Harry made his own decisions, Mr. Zabini,” Snape told him. It still sounded like a 'no'.

Blaise frowned. “That's not what you said at Halloween,” he reminded him.

Even the memory of it still made him flinch. The man had been angry, and even angrier that the Luxanuses hadn't punished him for it. Snape had even punished him himself, instead. But it was the scolding he'd gotten that was the worst. No one had ever spoken to him like that – not coldly, or cruelly, just – seriously. So very, very seriously. He'd be very happy not to have someone speak to him that way, again.

Come to think of it, he really didn't want to be having this conversation with Snape. He'd only meant to argue that he should be allowed to see Harry – or really, that Harry should be allowed to see him – but he'd definitely just reminded the man of Blaise's recent failings. Whatever Snape said now, Blaise knew he'd pushed Harry into trouble.

And Snape was staring at him, and there was a new intensity to his gaze. “True,” he said softly. “Just how much pressure did you put on my son this time, Mr. Zabini?”

Blaise looked down. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said.

“An answer, Mr. Zabini,” Snape demanded quietly.

Blaise winced, but looked up at him. “I told you it was my fault, sir,” he said, meeting Snape's eyes directly. “Did you not believe me?”

Snape just stared at him, his gaze still demanding. Blaise swallowed. “He really did refuse, sir,” he said softly. “He wouldn't have gone if I didn't threaten to go alone.”

Snape just kept looking at him, overtly listening and thinking, and Blaise finally looked away from his gaze. The man had done so much for him, and now – well, he certainly wasn't going to let Blaise in to see Harry, that was for sure. Not now, and maybe not ever. If there was one thing that was likely to get Snape angry, it was a threat to Harry. Blaise did not want to be in that category.

And yet the man had done so much for him, just the week before. He couldn't've written him off entirely, could he? The thought was a painful one, somehow. Snape was Harry's father, and yet...his opinion mattered. Really mattered. Blaise couldn't stand the way he was looking at him, now.

“Would you have gone alone, Mr. Zabini?” Snape asked next.

Blaise looked back up at him, surprised by the unexpected question. Then he winced. He'd been so, so stupid. And yet, somehow – if there were another chamber like it, he thought he might go check it out, now, just for the sake of the distraction. “Probably, sir,” he admitted.

Again, there was silence, as Snape studied him without speaking, and Blaise fought not to shuffle his feet. “Watch yourself, Mr. Zabini,” Snape told him finally. “I will be keeping a much closer eye on you from now on.”

Blaise shivered. Was that a promise, or a threat? But - “The Weasleys-” he started.

Snape's eyebrows rose on his forehead. “I do not believe they will object to my paying you a certain amount of special attention,” he answered. “If they do, I will simply make sure to inform them of any concerns I have. I would not have brought you to anyone I did not trust.”

Blaise didn't know what to say to that, and after a moment Snape continued, his voice very grave. “You've gone two months without support, Blaise – longer than that without a real family. It will not happen again. You are our responsibility, now, and neither I nor the Weasleys nor even Gregory Nott will forget it. You will either keep yourself out of trouble, or we will keep you out of it. Is that clear?”

Blaise stared at him. Oh. That was...quite the statement. He really didn't know what to do with that. Was it...reassuring? Frightening? Both? It certainly didn't sound like Snape was writing him off. Quite the opposite.

Blaise shook his head, head too full to contemplate that. “Y-yes sir,” he said uncertainly. There was a brief silence, and Blaise somehow found his courage again. “M-may I see Harry?” he asked again.

Snape studied his face. “Go think things over, Blaise,” he said finally. “I will allow him to take a break during his lunch and free periods tomorrow. I think you'll have better luck waiting to talk to him then.”

Go think things over. Great. Just what he wanted to do, right now.

But sure. Fine. He'd think things over. He needed a damned strategy, and he didn't have one already prepared for this scenario.

Was it really any different, though? Adoption was just a bunch of parchment with some legalese written on it. It'd make the Weasleys officially responsible for him for a time, but it was like a wedding – people romanticized it, sure, but it didn't actually do anything. You had some big ceremony somewhere with lots of serious language, and everybody pretended that it was this big beautiful permanent thing, but eventually they got sick of it and stopped pretending and the only thing in the way of a divorce was a bunch of pain-in-the-butt paperwork. Paperwork which could be easily nullified with more paperwork. Writing on paper that could literally burn away.

Still, though, the Weasleys were different. He'd never been in a household with other kids, for one thing, or one as poor, or with a Mrs. Weasley who gave him worried frowns when she thought he wasn't watching. He was always watching, and he knew she didn't like him. That was a problem.

“Permanently”. Certainly the woman thought she was keeping him. She was even setting it up to make it difficult for her to not keep him. Why do that, when she didn't like him?

She really was a very kind woman. No wonder her kids were all so loud and happy. The twins especially were absolutely fearless. No doubt the woman would actually try and rescue him.

Problem was, he really couldn't be like one of her kids. He just didn't have it in him to run around and make friends and do stupid shit and get into trouble anymore. He'd enjoyed that very briefly this year and it had been a monumental error. He should never have had anything to do with Snape, or Harry, once he figured out who they were. He should've stuck with Malfoy and Parkinson. Then he'd still have a home. Better miserable at school, with a home to go to, than happy at school and then this. What had he thought he was doing, making friends with Gryffindors?

Except those friendships were the only reason he had a home to go to, now. He'd run out of relatives after the Luxanuses, and they'd've probably got rid of him eventually anyway. Certainly they hadn't hesitated now. Besides, was he really worried about being friends with Gryffindors? He was about to be adopted by blood-traitors. He'd agreed to be adopted by blood-traitors. What had he been thinking, this year?

Except- that first day. He'd been sorted into Slytherin – no surprise there – and had quickly gone to his table and sat down, only to realize that his table-mate was Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. Who, like him, had thrown suspicious glances at everything and everyone, especially Draco Malfoy, who Blaise had equally decided was a potential threat, and their head-of-house, Severus Snape, whom Blaise had decided probably wasn't. Or, well, wasn't to the students, anyway. Blaise couldn't blame his house-mate, though – Snape had one hell of a reputation with Blaise's relatives, especially those who were actually Death Eaters, and the dark-haired man at the head table hadn't seemed to like Potter any better than Potter liked him.

He hadn't really expected to make friends at Hogwarts. He'd vaguely met Malfoy, Parkinson, Bulstrode, and even Nott before any of them had made it to Hogwarts. They'd all gone to the same big holiday parties and fundraisers and horse shows and picnics, but he'd known even then that he was not a good ally, passed around as he was and with his mother in Azkaban. He'd never be anyone important enough for Mr. Malfoy or Mrs. Parkinson to want their children to ally with early, and as such under their parent's eyes they'd never done more than shake hands and make polite noises.

Hogwarts was a great equalizer, in that respect – thrown together at school, you made your own allies who were useful while in school, even if they weren't on the list of friends your parents or guardians chose for you. Your guardians might not care for the relationship, but they were unlikely to actually object, either. So he'd expected that as long as he was useful while in school – smart, and perhaps willing to help his classmates cheat or at least stay out of trouble – he'd manage to find people to spend time with in school.

And then he'd met Harry. The absolute worst person to get to know, politically, but just like him. Smart, suspicious as all hell, and – unlike him, actually – completely unwilling to just 'get along' without a bloody good reason. Like a better reason than just avoiding getting beat up. Blaise still wished he had half that boy's courage. He'd been like a moth to Harry's flame.

He really should've known better. The next thing he'd known, Harry had deftly maneuvered all of his friends into a happy little group of five “Slythindors”, and Blaise had just gone along with the ride, and surprisingly quickly found himself hanging out in Gryffindor with a mudblood and not one, not two, but three Weasleys. Though really, he could've stopped at the fact that he'd been hanging out with Harry Potter. He had to have known that the Luxanuses would find out eventually. And yeah, he could've claimed to be building trust so he could use it later, but how long was that going to last, if the Luxanuses had wanted him to betray his friend early?

As it turned out, he knew exactly how long that would last. All of ten minutes. And he hadn't seen it coming, at all. He couldn't explain why he hadn't already told them, and then he still wouldn't tell him, and that was it. Over.

What had he been thinking? Of course the damned Luxanuses had gotten rid of him. He'd known that the primary reason they'd wanted him was to brag to their friends about his pureblood and Death Eater credentials. And now he'd be living with the blood-traitors. Adopted by the blood-traitors. His father was probably spinning in his grave.

Which was irrelevant, he reminded himself sharply. All that mattered, now, was survival. Not what his father would think of him, not what the Luxanuses thought of him, survival. Which meant what Mrs. Weasley thought of him. Purely.

Perfect kid. Except he really didn't know how to do that, with her. He'd done everything he knew how, and it wasn't enough. For a woman who seemed so kind, and so determined to make him happy, she was impossible to please.

But there was nothing he could do about that now. Right now, he needed to get back to his dorm and sleep. That was all. He could do that.

Somehow, Blaise got through the rest of the evening. He discovered at dinner that his classmates weren't speaking to him, but while it bothered him, some, it was also a relief – it mostly meant that they left him alone. He ate quickly, headed back to the dorm, made absolutely sure that all his work was done for the next day, and went to bed.

Once there, though, he found it difficult to sleep. There was a giant void in his mind labelled “adoption” that sent a bolt of unease straight to his stomach every time his thoughts started to stray, and got worse by measure that he tried not to think about it.

Finally, he stared at Theo's bunk above his head and concentrated on the list of things he needed to do the next day: Wake up. Get through his morning classes. Apologize to Harry. Get through his afternoon classes. Either avoid the Weasleys or at least make sure not to offend them. Stay out of trouble.

Nobody had any expectation of him beyond that, and the school was not going to be watching him and reporting minute points of his behavior back to Mrs. Weasley. Worrying about it was both irrational and pointless and he wasn't going to do it.

So. All he had to do was wake up on time, get through his classes, apologize to Harry, be polite to the Weasley brothers, and stay out of trouble. That was all. Wake up. Get through class. Apologize to Harry. Be polite to the Weasleys. Stay out of trouble. Wake up. Get through class. Apologize to Harry...

Somehow, eventually, he fell asleep.

Step one: go to class. Fortunately, his first class of the day was Charms, and the second was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Charms was relatively easy, and he was quickly coming to love their new Defense teacher. The class had been taken over temporarily by Dumbledore after Harry's first Quiddich game, Snape's two days of “medical leave”, and Quirrell's “retirement”, but just before Blaise's suspension Dumbledore had introduced them to their so-called 'permanent' teacher – a Hufflepuff named Fidel Fortissimus. And the man had a very different approach to the class than Quirrell had.

Last Monday – his first day as their teacher - the man hadn't had them use their wands or their books. He'd made them run. “Defense at your level,” he'd told them bluntly, “is not about the ability to fight, it's about the ability to get away. You will learn spells from me, but you will also move.”

Today, the knowledge that he had that class second was enough to motivate him to get out of bed and through Charms. This time Professor Fortissimus had them running an obstacle course, and casting, too, which was even more fun than the footraces last week had been. Professor Fortissimus gave them enough time after the class to go back to their dorms and shower before lunch, and Blaise found himself relatively relaxed getting out from under the hot water.

And then it was time for lunch, and step two: apologize to Harry. Which, given that he'd spent his morning Charms class avoiding his friend's gaze...Blaise quite suddenly remembered that despite his careful packing job last night, his Defense homework had somehow not gotten into his backpack. He'd better go find it and bring it to Professor Fortissimus. Right now.

Flitwick raised his eyebrows at Blaise's rudeness when he stood straight up at the bell, but fortunately just smiled and waved him out. Blaise ignored Malfoy's sneer on his way by and left the room ahead of the rest to race for his dorm.

Once upstairs in the quiet of his dorm, Blaise just sat on his bunk, somehow already exhausted from the day. He had to go back downstairs; he had to apologize to Harry. It might be his only chance, with Snape keeping him so close. Bending down, Blaise found one of the handles to his trunk and pulled it from under the bed. Of course, he couldn't get it far enough out from that angle to open it. He had learned that on multiple occasions, but somehow he always still tried. Huffing, he got off the bed and pulled it out to rummage around inside it, feeling a twinge in his stomach as he realized how uncharacteristically messy it was inside. Where had he put his homework? It had to be in his trunk, if it wasn't in his backpack...

It was in his backpack. Somehow he hadn't been able to find it half an hour ago, but it truly had to be in there. Shoving his trunk back under the bed, Blaise instead rummaged in his backpack again, eventually pulling his Defense homework out of the cover of his Transfiguration textbook. It was creased and crumpled around the edges of the book. Great. Why hadn't he put it away properly?

Slowing himself down, Blaise organized his whole backpack properly, and then pulled out his trunk to do the same, feeling his stomach twisting further by measure that the time passed and he ignored it. Eventually, his trunk was as neat as it could be, and Blaise hurriedly cast Tempus. 12:30. He had half an hour to eat, talk to Harry, and get to Transfigurations. He had to go. Now. Finally getting up, he grabbed his backpack and hurried down the stairs.

He had half an hour. He couldn't afford to dawdle. Fortunately, Harry was still in the lunchroom, but it was bloody hard to go ahead and enter the room, anyway. The Slythindors had all been home for suspension already when their classmates had noticed the night's lost house points, but even a week later the other students had not forgiven the five of them for the Ravenclaws' sudden lead. Even the Ravenclaws seemed angry, and had made themselves obnoxious all morning with their overblown gratitude in the hallways between classes. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were much worse – either snubbing them entirely or tripping them in the hallways. Only the Weasley twins seemed to be feeling at all forgiving for their stupid escapade in the third floor corridor. They'd punched his arm – hard enough to hurt – and made a wry comment to Blaise about not getting caught next time, and that was it.

Blaise didn't care much about the loss of points for his own sake, but the other Slytherins especially had managed to make breakfast thoroughly awful anyway. Nothing had gotten truly nasty – just very unfriendly – but the glares from people who usually liked him reasonably well, especially the older students, had been hard enough to take that he wouldn't have wanted to cross the Great Hall right now even if he'd been heading for Heaven itself. As it was – Harry was sitting alone and scowling down at his food, emphatically not happy with the world. Which did not bode at all well for how this conversation was going to go.

Maybe it can wait? he thought. But he didn't know if he'd get another chance to talk to Harry alone, and especially not if he didn't want to face Snape again. Which he emphatically didn't. But facing Harry might not be much better.

At least Harry was alone, though. It'd've been even worse trying to do this in front of Theodore and the others. He probably should apologize to them, too, but they'd come along with the idea much more readily and as such wouldn't be nearly as angry as Harry probably was.

Nothing for it. Forcing his shoulders back, Blaise braved the hard stares – and occasional feet - of his peers and he crossed the long expanse between the doorway and the Slytherin table. He made it without actually tripping, and finally sat down across from his friend.

Harry didn't even look up to see who was there.

“Hi, Harry,” Blaise said quietly. His throat felt dry, and Harry still didn't look at him, but started cutting a chunk off his chicken breast.

“C-can we talk?” Blaise tried again.

Harry forked up the chicken, put it in his mouth, and began to chew, still without looking up.

Blaise swallowed. Harry was not known for his easy-going or forgiving nature. He really hadn't expected him to just let this go. But he needed his friend. Theo and Ron and Hermione were great, but somehow they just weren't who he needed right now.

“Harry -” he tried again. “Please?” His desperation must've come out in his tone, and finally, finally Harry swallowed his food and looked up. But his expression was as furious as Blaise had ever seen it.

“Alright,” Harry said. “Talk, then.”

And then he just sat there, no longer eating, and waited, looking so much like Snape that it was terrifying.

Blaise closed his eyes, knowing his voice was going to shake if he spoke. “I'm sorry, alright?” he managed finally.

“For what?” Harry challenged. His eyes were like ice.

Blaise winced. This already wasn't going well. “Look,” he tried, “can we do this elsewhere, maybe? I don't want to get in trouble -” he cut off, realizing. He couldn't get in trouble. He must. Not. get into any trouble whatsoever. Ever.

“Oh, really,” Harry repeated. “You get me to steal potions from Snape and drag me down a damned trapdoor in the most dangerous part of the school and now you don't want to get into trouble. Bloody ironic, don't you think?”

Blaise hesitated, unsure what he could say. He needed to take this very, very carefully if his friend wasn't going to sock him one. He'd deserve it if Harry did, but the likelihood of that getting back to the Weasleys was high. He was going back to them in only four days, for the Easter Holidays. The thought did not make him feel any better.

But Harry was evidently waiting for a response, and finally Blaise tried again. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I know you're mad and I know that's my fault but I really, really can't afford to get into any trouble right now. You can be as mad as you want but just don't get me in trouble. Please?”

Harry just snorted. “Fucking hilarious,” he said coldly.

Blaise couldn't think of a single damned thing to say, and finally Harry gave him a sharp look. “Why?” he asked. “Or are you going to lie about that, too?”

Blaise winced. Shit. He'd told Harry everything was alright. After being really horrible to Harry when he'd done the same thing. He'd forgotten about that part.

“M-my au-” Blaise's stomach clenched, and abruptly he understood why Harry generally refused to talk about his parents by anything other than their last names. “...the Luxanuses kicked me out,” he told his friend finally.

Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't speak right away, and Blaise pushed on. “I'm staying with Ron's folks and they say they're going to keep me but-” he broke off. He really didn't want to explain, and Harry most likely understood anyway. That was why he so desperately needed him. But Harry still didn't say anything, and finally Blaise continued again.

“I'm sorry I got you in trouble and I'm really sorry I told you everything was okay when it wasn't,” he said. “I- I know that makes me a total hypocrite. But I really, really, need to stay out of trouble now or-” he cut off again, and this time didn't try again to keep on.

“Hmm,” Harry said coldly. “Let's see. You want to stay out of trouble, because you've got a brandy new family you never thought you could hope for and you're worried that the chance'll disappear again as fast as it came...” he trailed off, then shook his head. “Nope, don't get it.”

Blaise took a deep breath, but Harry just paused for a bit before continuing. “Oh hey, I have a great idea! Let's go have a picnic in the Forbidden Forest! We'll bring along the other three just to guarantee we'll get caught. It'll be great fun!”

Blaise took another breath, but Harry still wasn't done.

“Or how about we head into Hogsmeade, and hop on the Hogwarts Express for London? You can just go steal some potions from Snape and we can all go have a party with a bunch of Death Eaters! Maybe we'll go visit the Weasleys and explode a pot of Filbert's Famous Fumes in their backyard! It'll be great!”

Blaise's stomach clenched, and didn't loosen, but he didn't try to speak again. It was still obvious that Harry wasn't done, and Blaise knew him well enough to know that interrupting him really wouldn't help.

“I am grounded for two weeks,” Harry told him seriously. “I was suspended, which may as well have been a week solid of detention. I still have two hours of detention every night, and Snape says he's not still angry but I'm not that naive. He could barely speak to me Monday night. His face may as well have been set in concrete. And now you want my help to stay out of trouble? I ought to fucking frame you!”

Blaise shut his eyes. Harry had stopped ranting, finally, but his fury hadn't abated so much as he'd run out of things to say. And there went that. He'd known Harry had a vindictive streak a mile wide, but he'd never been on the wrong end of it before. He'd have to manage the coming days on his own, somehow.

“Alright, Harry,” he said softly. Swallowing, he got up from the bench. He hadn't even gotten as far as making himself a plate of food, let alone eating any of it. He was just turning for the door out when Harry made a sharp, frustrated sound through his teeth.

“Wait, Blaise,” his friend snapped out from behind him. Blaise stopped, and turned to face him warily.

“I didn't say I wouldn't help,” Harry continued, sounding frustrated, “I'm just-”

A week into a two-week-long grounding at home with an absolutely terrified Severus Snape. Blaise guessed that that was more the problem – Snape was unlikely to tell Harry he wasn't angry if it wasn't true – but he couldn't blame Harry for not knowing the difference. Harry might not admit it, but his friend was still physically afraid of Snape's displeasure, and now the other students were furious with him, too, and that was new. All because Blaise had pressured him into doing something stupid that he didn't want to do. Which Blaise understood completely. There really was no reason Harry shouldn't throw him under the bus. It'd be only fair.

But Blaise had apologized, and Harry was either going to accept that or not. There wasn't much else Blaise could do, now. And Harry had stopped him. Blaise just stood and waited, watching the emotions play over Harry's face.

“I'll think about it,” Harry finally told him.

Blaise nodded. “Thanks,” he said softly. But he wasn't going to try to eat, now. He picked up his backpack and left. Step Three: get through afternoon classes.And then he'd just hide out in the dorm for the rest of the evening. He couldn't get into trouble that way.