One day. The Hogwarts Express would bring everybody back to King's Cross the next morning.

Maybe he could run away, Blaise mused as he stared at the bunk above him. If he was going to end up homeless eventually, why wait for the Weasleys to get tired of him, first? What if he didn't like them, either?

Adopt you, permanently. Yeah, right. Like that was actually going to happen. Sure, Mrs. Weasley was a really nice person to even try, but she wasn't even family, or related to family. In fact, she would probably see every member of his family in prison, if she could. Not that he really blamed her. He was pretty sure his mother's cousin had killed a pair of Prewetts in the so-called First Voldemort War. For all he knew, the man had killed one of Mrs. Weasleys siblings. Which would not help his case with her at all.

If she even actually adopted him in the first place, he realized suddenly with another wash of acid to his stomach. These things took time, and she'd had a week to get cold feet. Who knew if she'd even tell him, or if she'd just...not invite him back. When he'd gone to live with the Luxanises, the first thing he'd known about it was when a strange woman picked him up from school one day. He hadn't even realized what had happened until he realized that all of his belongings were already in the new house. Mrs. Luxanis had been kind about it, but all she'd been able to tell him was that her cousin wanted to get married. Which she naturally couldn't do with him around. He even understood...sort of. It just wasn't relevant.

But the Luxanises had had him thinking he was actually going to stay. They'd seemed to enjoy him. They'd wanted people to meet him. They'd praised his good manners and his intelligence. His good looks. Mister Luxanis had liked to brag about his mother's family – Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Blaise's mother Belladonna, still in Azkaban for murdering her husbands, but a Black nonetheless, and a well-respected member of Voldemort's inner circle, as well. Sure, Blaise wasn't a pureblood himself, but his mother was, and a Black, besides. And had he mentioned how Blaise was related to the Black family? Mrs. Luxanus had liked to weep over the sad story of her cousin's imprisonment, and how they tried to honer her by raising Blaise as she would've liked. Never mind his father, also a Death Eater, and one of the ones she'd murdered. He was apparently far enough down the Death Eater ranks to be utterly forgettable.

He'd disgraced all of them. Which didn't matter. His mother probably didn't know about it, and his father could toss and turn all he wanted, it wouldn't bring him back to life. It did. not. matter.

But it would matter to Mrs. Weasley, and for a very different reason. All that long and proud Black lineage, his mother in prison, his father dead at her hands, both of them Death Eaters...his best bet with her was probably to keep his nose very clean, and stay out of the way when other people came to visit. She wouldn't want her friends to see and recognize him for who he was. Good thing his father had been so dark – his facial features looked just like hers, or so he'd been told, but the comparative darkness of his skin covered some of it. His father had been a Death Eater, too, but a relatively obscure one.

His alarm had gone off more than fifteen minutes ago. He could hear the other Slytherin first-years chatting and brushing their teeth and getting into the showers, as well as the second-years scuffling around on the floor above. If Blaise missed breakfast Snape would come find him. He'd made that very clear. Blaise didn't want to face his Head-of-House if the man had to come up into the dorm to drag him out of bed. He had to get up, today. And soon. Everybody else was nearly ready.

Well, everybody other than Crabbe and Goyle, probably. They were allowed to skip breakfast without personal attention from their Head of House. They didn't even seem to ever bathe, and they ate cakes sent by their parents for breakfast instead of ever going to the Great Hall. They tended to arrive in class both late and sloppy. By lunchtime, Stone or Lebeaux had caught up to them and sent them back to the dorm to neaten up, but Snape himself didn't do anything about it that Blaise could see.

Not that Blaise actually envied them that, but still...it was annoying, now. He'd've skipped the whole day, today, if he could've gotten away with it, and instead – he just had to get up, and he was still staring at the slats of the bunk above him.

Finally, Theo's head moved into Blaise's field of vision as he leaned down from the bunk above, as usual already dressed before he came down from his bunk. “You getting up?” he asked anxiously.

“...yeah,” Blaise managed, finally rolling to his feet. “Thanks.”

“What's wrong?” Theo asked him. “Where've you been the last couple of days?”

Conveniently, that gave Blaise a choice between the two questions. “Detention, sorta,” he answered Theo. “Snape's been keeping me close all week.”

“Oh,” Theo said. Probably guessing that it was because of the trouble Blaise had gotten them all into, he didn't ask why. Instead, he frowned. “Why's that so bad?”

“Why is detention with Snape solid for two days a bad thing?” Blaise asked him incredulously. “Do you need to ask?”

“Yes. Or, well, no,” Theo asked, “it's just...you're acting kinda weird...”

Weird. Yeah, he probably was. But Theo was still staring at him over the edge of the bunk, brow furrowed, and he finally spoke up again.

“What's wrong? You're acting kinda like Harry does.” He sounded confused, and Blaise realized what he was really saying. Blaise had realized early on that he and Harry had a lot in common, but until recently Blaise had acted close enough to 'normal' that Theo hadn't picked up on it. But you'd have to be a brick to not notice that Harry had his issues.

Blaise looked at his friend soberly. Of all times for Theo to develop some maturity. One of the best things about Theo was his total cluelessness when the world was blowing up. He'd pull pranks and die his hair weird colors in the middle of a typhoon, not because he was trying to cheer anyone up, but because he hadn't noticed the storm in the first place. And he was so happy just to have friends that he really didn't get mad or ask a lot of questions when they did strange things. Given the other tempers going around their little 'Slythindor' group, that was refreshing.

But other than Harry, Theo was in the best position to notice anything going on with Blaise. Blaise could hide it from Ron and Hermione. They were wisely sticking to the Gryffindor table for now, what with both Slytherin and Gryffindor being so angry with them, so they hadn't noticed Blaise's frequent absences this week. But this was the second day in a row it was Theo who made sure Blaise got to class on time in the morning. Blaise owed him...something.

“I-” but he couldn't think of anything he could say. It was like the words stuck in his throat, an intangible barrier that he could choose to push past, but that would hurt.

But Theo was just waiting, his head a little to the side, confusion on his face. Maybe Blaise could get the words out if he tried a bit of a back-door approach. “Snape is...taking care of me right now, sort of,” he managed. “I went to live with the Weasleys for the suspension...” he paused for a moment to control his voice, then continued. “And they say they're going to adopt me. I'm just really...stressed.”

Theo's eyes went wide. “What happened with your guardians?” he asked immediately. “Weren't you living with Malfoy's aunt?”

“First cousin once removed,” Blaise clarified roughly. “Our mothers' mutual first cousin. She called me her nephew, though, and I think Malfoy calls her our aunt, too.”

Theo just waited, and finally Blaise looked away, and found his voice again. “...they found out about Harry and Snape,” he answered Theo softly. “I hadn't told them.”

And that was it – he'd pushed the barrier too far. His throat seized up, and the tears started to leak out of his eyes even as he tried to fight them back. He sat on the bed and covered his face, vainly trying to hide the emotion from his friend.

There was a shuffle and a thud as Theo clambered down from the top bunk, and then the mattress beside him sagged as his friend sat by his side. He didn't say anything, for a bit, but eventually Blaise got himself a little more under control, and Theo spoke again. “My Da said not to ever talk about them, not with anybody,” he told Blaise. “He got really really serious about it. But he wouldn't-” he cut off.

Blaise took a deep breath, trying to stop the rest of the tears and think about what Theo was saying. No, Theo's Dad wouldn't disown Theo for sharing – or not sharing – news about Snape's adoption of Harry. But it was the other part of Theo's statement that was interesting. My Da said not to ever talk about them, not with anybody. He got really serious about it. Was Mr. Nott protecting Snape? Blaise felt himself frown as he thought about it. Theo's Da was playing a dangerous game, if that was so. Especially if he was trying to get Theo to be discreet. Maybe Theo just meant that his father didn't want to hear about Snape because he was a traitor? It didn't seem likely, though – Theo would know the difference.

Blaise wiped his face roughly with his hands. The distraction had been enough to help him stop the tears, and as soon as his face was clear of them he sat up to look at Theo. “You probably shouldn't tell anyone that, either,” he told Theo softly, glad for the change in topic. “Your Da could get in big trouble.”

For once, Theo was entirely serious. “I know,” he said. “He said if anything happened, I should go to Snape. I have a portkey and everything. But you already know.”

Not about Mr. Nott, he hadn't, but Theo was right that Blaise wasn't a danger to his father. It sounded like Theo actually knew a lot more than Blaise had given him credit for. Which could explain the sudden maturity. It made Blaise unaccountably sad. But Theo had to know. “Don't talk about your Da, either,” he told Theo. “I mean, you could, with Harry or I, but if anybody else overheard-” And they were currently sitting in the middle of the Slytherin boys' dorm. It was too loud in the room for anyone to overhear them, but... “We shouldn't talk about it here,” he finished.

“True,” Theo said. “Come to breakfast?”

Blaise snorted. “I don't have a choice,” he told his friend, the words coming much more freely now that the more serious secret was told. “Snape ordered me.”

Theo widened his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Blaise said. “Stone says I'm on his 'take-a-step-out-of-line-and-you're-dead' list. He made me write lines yesterday because he told me to come spend time in his office after class and I delayed for fifteen minutes.”

“Wow,” Theo said. “What'd you do?”

“Delayed for fifteen minutes?” Blaise suggested.

Theo gave him an irritated look. That clearly wasn't what he meant. Blaise shook his head at him. “No idea,” he said. To his surprise, he felt enough better to smile at his friend. “Maybe Harry's right. The man's evil.”

Somehow, he managed to get to his morning classes on time, though the momentary lightness he'd achieved through talking to Theo before and during breakfast went away quickly. His stomach seemed to slowly fill with lead as the morning's double Potions class inched onward. The concentration that a really good potion required just didn't seem worth the effort, at the moment, and his usual desire to please his Head-of-House was running pretty thin, too. Theo and Harry's willingness to screw around in Snape's class was starting to make much more sense.

Somewhere along the line, somebody floated something into Blaise's cauldron that made it smoke and smell like fermenting grass. He wouldn't have dared to sabotage the potion, himself, but the putrid green mess bubbling in his cauldron was oddly satisfying, and for once he neither tried to fix it nor looked around to figure out who had ruined it. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for everyone in the class, as Malfoy's hair promptly turned a lurid pink. Harry may as well've signed it.

“Malfoy, Potter, and Zabini, stay after class,” Snape intoned.

Damnit. Hadn't he asked Harry to keep him out of trouble?

“Sorry,” his friend muttered. “Didn't think you'd be in trouble, too.”

Fair. Why was he in trouble? Blaise hadn't even looked at Malfoy.

At the end of the class period, Blaise brought the ruined potion up to Snape for inspection. Snape gave Blaise a frown before he'd even looked at the little vial, but nonetheless dutifully pulled off the stopper, swirled the mess in the vial to see its color and consistency, and waved a hand over the open top to waft waft the fumes towards his nose. When he was done, he fixed Blaise with a serious look.

“Did you not realize it was just dittany that he threw in, Blaise?” he asked.

Blaise just shrugged. Snape frowned even deeper – usually Blaise prided himself on the best potions in the class - but turned to his grade book and marked him an “Acceptable”. Blaise thought that was it, but Snape spoke up quietly.

“I know Mr. Malfoy sabotaged this, Mr. Zabini, but I also know you're more than capable of fixing it. I am disappointed that you did not try. Come to my office after classes for detention. In the meantime, I will see you at lunch.”

Detention? For not attempting to fix a potion that somebody else had mucked with? That was so unfair! Blaise gave the Potions master a glare before he caught himself and looked down.

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly. When Blaise turned to leave, though, Snape stopped him with a hand. Blaise paused, and Snape picked something up from his desk and handed it to him.

“This came for you,” he said.

Blaise reached out to take it, and found a slip of worn parchment, rolled up and sealed with wax.

“Thank you, sir,” Blaise told his Head-of-House carefully.

This time when he turned, Snape didn't stop him. Harry and Malfoy were standing side by side beside Snape's desk, waiting for their classmates to clear out, and Harry grimaced apologetically at him as he passed. Blaise managed a small smile in return.

Right outside the classroom, Blaise stepped to one side to get out of the way and stopped to slit the wax seal on the note.

Blaise, dear, it said,

Go ahead and take the Hogwarts Express to King's Cross Station tomorrow morning. I'll meet you and your brothers at the platform nine and three quarters when you arrive. - Mum.

His brothers, huh? And 'Mum'. He probably should've felt relieved – at least she hadn't changed her mind. Instead the words just tightened his stomach further. He didn't want to hurt her, but if she was hoping he'd actually be family she should've adopted someone capable of it. He was going to come as a terrible disappointment.

His feet started heading back to his dorm before he remembered. I'll see you at lunch. And Snape would mean it, too. Damn his Head-of-House. He did not need looking after. But he wouldn't put it past Snape to tell the Weasleys that Blaise wasn't eating, especially if he had ordered Blaise to do so. The greasy git had already given Blaise a detention for no f-ing reason. Grimacing, Blaise followed his housemates to the Great Hall, dodging the feet that somehow ended up in his way as he passed by.

Lunch, DADA, Herbology. The classes past in a blur, and then it was time for his detention. This time, Blaise knew well enough to head straight for Snape's office. He took just a moment outside the door to school his expression to a polite blank, and used the knocker. When Snape opened the door, though, Blaise found himself fighting a scowl, and looked at the ground instead.

“You are not required to be happy with me, Mr. Zabini,” Snape told him. “Come in.”

Blaise obeyed, and looked around for his friend. At first, he thought he wasn't there – Harry's trunk was still on the floor but Harry wasn't with it – and then he found him, and winced. Harry was standing in the corner of Snape's office, facing the junction between the two walls. Knowing Harry, he'd guess that the other boy was not at all happy about it. He'd probably be even less happy that Blaise had seen him there. Come to think of it, Blaise wasn't particularly happy about it, either. It was...awkward.

Not really knowing how to respond, Blaise instead looked at the room for clues of what he was supposed to do. Apparently, he was going to be brewing – perhaps to redo the potion from this afternoon?

But Snape had gone to sit behind his desk, and this was detention. Blaise took his cue from his Head-of-House and headed to stand in front of his desk.

“So?” Snape asked him immediately. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Blaise looked down, schooling his expression as well as he could.

“And look at me, Mr. Zabini,” Snape immediately added.

Blaise scowled, cleared the expression as well as he could, and met his Head-of-House's eyes squarely. He knew that the man must see his annoyance, but it was the best he could do in his current mood. To his surprise, the man's gaze was gentle.

“Did you truly have anywhere else you wanted to be, Blaise?” he asked first.

That was far too perceptive for Blaise's tastes, but he wouldn't lie. He shook his head just a touch, abruptly feeling much more tired and disheartened than angry.

“Your potions have been truly exemplary this year, even in the last few months,” Snape told him next. “If I can, I'd have you get through this without losing ground.”

For a moment, he was warmed by the praise, but he shook it off. The man was an idiot if he thought that what Blaise was really going to be worrying about, right now, was Potions. Good f-ing luck. Even if he had felt capable of focusing on them, right now, he was never going to be a Potions Master. The only way you could achieve that was by taking an apprenticeship. Most Potions Masters were on the Death Eater side. Even if he somehow did manage to find one willing to take him on, his materials and test fees and everything else would cost far more than Blaise could afford. Any dream he'd held of being a Potions Master had left with the Luxanuses.

And being a Potions Master was the only way to make Potions knowledge worth anything. Even NEWT-level Potions Mastery was only useful for minor household salves and fever droughts – worth doing if you were staying home with kids on a tight budget, but nothing you could really make a career out of by itself. Why on earth should he care about Potions, now?

Except...he did still care about his Potions, and he really didn't mind the chance to fix his. He just hadn't much felt like it, today, and then Snape had scolded him on top of it. Which was totally unfair.

And he shouldn't say anything, but - “You didn't call it 'detention' because you meant to praise me,” Blaise told his friend's father resentfully.

“No,” Snape told him, suddenly stern. “That was because you did not try today at all. You're capable of far better than you worked today and you know it.”

“You marked it an 'Acceptable'!” Blaise protested.

“Yes,” Snape answered, “because it was and at least in my grading I will treat every student the same. But you can do better and you chose not to, so now you will brew it again, properly.”

Frustrated, Blaise was ready to argue back again, but finally clamped his lips shut. What was he doing? Sure, he'd argued with Snape in the past, but did he really think he could get away with it, now? What was he going to do, if Snape decided to call the Weasleys? He'd already called the Luxanuses twice that year!

Biting back his frustration, Blaise forced his gaze down. “Yes, sir,” he said softly.

Severus looked down at his young student, surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor. That was twice in ten minutes the boy had abruptly stopped arguing with him when he clearly wanted to. He was trying to control his expressions, too, which was...less unusual, come to think of it. The boy argued with him, usually, but there had always been an adultish sort of dignity to his demeanor when he did it. And a very adult – too adult - sense of the way the world worked.

And now - it had been a relief, to hear Blaise arguing with him again, but apparently he'd just gotten the boy frustrated enough to forget himself. Blaise was still bound and determined not to offend. Hopefully Molly would be able to break through it, given time; Severus was nearly certain that Blaise's sudden good behavior was directed at her and Arthur, and not at him.

Severus sighed. Perhaps he was being overly harsh. He really wasn't surprised that Blaise was having trouble concentrating on his schoolwork, today. But Blaise was usually a perfect Potions student: meticulous, observant, and patient. Today, he'd been sloppy, even before Malfoy had floated the dittany into his cauldron. Severus couldn't help but think that Blaise had deliberately expressed his anger with his Head-of-House by acting up in his class. Well, as much as he could without actually getting himself in trouble, anyway. A mediocre potion was a pretty poor effort, as far as 'acting up' went. As inured as he was to Harry, Severus wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been observing Blaise so closely lately.

But then, that was why he was watching so carefully. Giving him detention for behaving strangely probably wasn't quite fair, but again, he was used to Harry. If Harry was behaving strangely, he needed to be on top of it quickly, or his son would be popping in on the Dursleys within the half hour. Blaise was different, but somehow Severus still didn't want him off somewhere in Hogwarts on his own. He wanted him in his office.

It had worked perfectly well yesterday just to order Blaise to his office without any particular explanation. The detention, in that sense, was unnecessary. But he was displeased that Blaise had chosen his class to act up in. Blaise usually put a lot of careful effort into his potions, and seemed to genuinely care how they turned out. For him to allow one to be destroyed – and he was pretty sure that part was directed at him. He was not going to allow that.

But Blaise was standing in front of him, head down but shoulders tense. It was a very unnatural posture, for him – unlike Harry, Blaise rarely struggled to meet his eyes, even when he was in trouble, or apologizing.

“Look at me, Blaise.” As he said it, he realized that he'd already asked that. Blaise was clearly not responding according to his own inclination, but he was equally not obeying what Severus had expressly told him to do. Perhaps this was what someone else had expected of him, at some point. Not the Luxanus', either – Severus had seen how they treated Blaise, and there was no way they expected the boy to show this particular kind of deference. Odd. But then, who knew what sort of inconsistent expectations different households had held for Blaise over time?

Blaise did look up at his request, and though his expression was very nearly blank, there was something about the set of his shoulders and jaw that told Severus a different story. He looked...frustrated. Which made sense. Severus had been on his case quite a bit this week. And it went with the arguing from before.

“I realize that this has not been an easy week, Zabini,” Snape told him next. His tone was softer than before, and Blaise found he preferred the harsh...sort of. He hated earning Snape's censure, but the sympathy right now was going to make him cry. And he was supposed to maintain eye contact, which meant he couldn't hide. Struggling, he clenched his jaw, hard, and swallowed around a growing lump in his throat.

“You're going to be alright, Blaise,” Snape told him. His gaze was intense, and the soft tone was as serious as Blaise had ever heard it. “I promise you, you'll be alright. The Weasleys are very kind, and I know that Mrs. Weasley is very happy that you accepted her offer to adopt you. And you can always come to me if you need any sort of help.”

Right. He'd never heard his Head-of-House being this...kind. But the man was wrong. Mrs. Weasley wasn't the problem, Blaise was. And he'd be nearly as much a problem for Snape – and especially Harry – as he was for Mrs. Weasley.

But neither Snape's words nor this line of thinking were helping at all. The lump in his throat felt gigantic, like he'd swallowed an ice cube and it had got stuck and wasn't melting. If he tried to speak now, he'd lose all control.

Snape frowned fiercely, for a moment, and Blaise thought he'd somehow angered him, but then Snape stood up and came around his desk. Before Blaise really understood what was happening, he found himself pressed into the man's chest.

And that did it. Blaise's throat seized up entirely, and the tears came. He managed to keep nearly silent, but his muscles seemed to seize up all over his body, and he felt himself shaking with it. Even worse, he was leaking tears and probably snot all over the man's robes. Snape just held him, without speaking, holding his head and rubbing his back gently as Blaise tried and failed to stop his tears.

He was an idiot, Severus reflected, holding his eleven-year-old student tightly. The boy had been at school for four days, and in his office for all four. He knew he was terrible with children but how had he not done this before? It had taken him a long time to hold Harry, too, though – a lot longer than this. Neither of the two of them gave any indication that they wanted the contact.

It was very different from holding Harry. Like Harry, Blaise did not hug back, but usually if Harry got to this point, he'd just cry, openly and honestly, clinging to Severus' robes. In fact, the crying had come first – it had taken that before Severus had finally gotten the bright idea to actually hold him.

Blaise, though - Blaise was stiff in his arms, and taking forcedly even, slow breaths through his nose instead of gasping or even opening his mouth at all, and he had turned his face into Severus' robes to muffle the sound further. His whole body was shaking with the effort, but Harry was right across the room and hadn't turned around. Harry tried not to let anyone see him cry, but once he'd started, he made no effort to keep quiet. Blaise not only tried, he succeeded.

Could Molly fix this? He'd known Blaise was too serious, and he'd known the boy needed a home, but this – this was as bad as Harry's behavior, in its own way. The boy was sobbing his guts out and he was silent.

“You have nothing more to hide, Blaise,” Severus told him very quietly, rubbing his back a little more firmly. “Just cry.”

His rubbing pushed the boy a little more firmly into him, which broke up some of the stiffness, and Blaise gave a very quiet gasp against his robes. The shaking eased some as he did it, but very quickly afterward the boy pushed away, his face once again a complete mask.

“Blaise-” Severus said.

Blaise met his gaze squarely, a very adult sort of determination in his eyes. It was like hitting a brick wall; not a good look, in a child, and Severus did not have to be a legilimens to tell what he meant. Severus hesitated, for a moment, but decided not to push. Perhaps the Weasleys could work on those boundaries, but it wasn't Severus' place to do so.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly. “Go brew, then.”

Finally. Snape was kind, but sympathy was the very last thing he needed. He'd managed – barely – to regain his composure, but it would not last if the man touched him again. Blaise kept his face blank and turned to head for the potions kit and set up his brazier. The first part of brewing was always nearly the same, and Blaise had already made this one that morning. He went through the ingredients prep and brazier set-up nearly on autopilot, his mind elsewhere.

He'd managed to control his expression while facing Snape, but now his cheeks burned with shame. Snape had found him a place to stay; had provided a place to spend his afternoons and evenings in peace. That did not give Blaise license to snot all over him. Merlin, what must the man think of him? He could see the effort the man was putting in, even if it was annoying; why couldn't he just take what he was given and accept it? Everything was fine. Snape had made everything fine. He had a place to go, now, at least through the school year and probably the summer. Yeah, he'd moved again. So what?

But - one night. Roughly 18 hours, and he'd be on the Hogwarts Express, headed 'home' to the Weasleys. 24 hours, and he'd be there. The very thought turned his stomach. And as for anything beyond that – No. No, he was not going there. Not even close.

Picking up the large chunk of gargaginger root, he held it to his nose and let the sharp spice of it clear his sinuses and his thinking. It made his nose run, but at least served to snap him back to the present. If this potion wasn't perfect- well. He really didn't know what Snape would do, at this point. Best case, the man would just raise an eyebrow, or make him do it over again. Worst case – Blaise winced. The man would at least scold him. Worst case, he'd want to talk again - in that new, gentle way of his that made Blaise feel like he was some sort of porcelain doll – too fragile to even scold properly. Blaise didn't think he could take any more of that, at the moment.

If he could just brew potions all night, that would be good. For now, he'd just concentrate on this one. Right now, that was grating the gargaginger. He was supposed to wear gloves for this, but Snape wasn't looking, and the stuff wasn't dangerous. It just stung, and Blaise really didn't care.

The potion took nearly two hours to brew. At some point, Snape called Harry out of the corner, and spoke to him quietly before setting him up to continue work on his trunk. Best guess, Harry was altering it in some way, probably for his Transfigurations tutoring. It wasn't the first time McGonagall had had him working on some sort of a practical project, and the trunk was a different color from the last time Blaise had seen it. Harry was too good at color, now, to make that the actual project, though – it looked like maybe Harry was altering the space inside it. He wished he could ask – if Harry really was transfiguring the internals of a magical object, that was impressive as Hell. Not that Harry would care.

Harry was being bizarrely well-behaved. His friend would usually be spitting mad, by now, and Snape would usually be wearing pink robes and a tiara – or stuck by his feet to the floor. Blaise had never seen Harry actually hurt anyone – or, well, not with magic, at least - but he'd equally never seen him quite this cooperative. He'd seen the momentary argument the two had had on Wednesday – but Snape had somehow managed to diffuse it, and Harry had come back into the room and quietly done as Snape had been asking. Ever since Harry had said Snape was adopting him, the boy had been – weird. Alternating between totally unwilling to get in trouble, and furiously angry and deliberately attacking Snape, specifically. This week, though, was unreal. And sure, Blaise had asked Harry not to get him in trouble, but until Malfoy had messed with Blaise's potion, Harry had started reminding him of Hermione, he was being so good.

Thank you, Harry, Blaise thought suddenly. That had to be hard on him.

Damnit, he could not mess with Harry's relationship with Snape. Couldn't do it. But when the Weasleys got sick of him, Snape was the only resource Blaise had left. What the hell was he going to do? What other recourse did he have?

Mr. Nott. Snape had mentioned him, before - You are our responsibility, now, and neither I nor the Weasleys nor even Gregory Nott will forget it. In the moment, Mr. Nott's name had surprised him a little, but he'd had other things on his mind. He was a little surprised, too, that he'd remembered it, but the conversation with Theo that morning had brought the man back to mind. He was 90% sure that Mr. Nott wouldn't harm him, blood-traitor or no, which meant that the man might be willing to help him.

The thought was at least somewhat reassuring. He at least had something to try, if things got bad.

When. When things got bad. The Weasleys weren't going to last, and he'd need another option. It was nice to have one that didn't involve Snape. He'd go to Nott, first. Decision made, Blaise concentrated back on his potion.

The train whistled, loud next to his ear. He needed to get on. Today. Now. Oh, Merlin but he didn't want to. Nothing bad is going to happen today, idiot, he told himself sharply. What was his problem, that Mrs. Weasley was too nice to him?

“Yo Blaise, you coming?” Blaise turned his head quickly, and saw Ron waving at him from a window of the train. “Ride with us!”

“Sure!” he called back brightly. Relax, damnit. They're your friends. In any other circumstances, he'd've been happy to ride the train with Ron and Theo and Hermione. He'd already done it twice before, at Christmastime. It had been fun. Not quite the same as hanging out with Harry there – he stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays – but fun nonetheless. He'd played chess with Ron, and various study games with Hermione. He'd beat her at Potions; she'd trounced him at Charms. Theo had tried out a new spell and managed to give Ron's king and queen Santa hats instead of crowns. They'd all had a good laugh as the two minuscule monarchs had stomped off in a huff and refused to play until they were removed. He'd used some of the spending money that the Luxanuses had given him for Christmas to buy them all pumpkin pasties from the trolley.

Now – now he needed to be perfect. He couldn't afford to tick off Ron, and he was headed to go live with him. And yeah, Mrs. Weasley was nice, but if he didn't find a way to actually please her, he was stuck hoping that Theo could manage to hide him from his father, or that Nott Senior both wouldn't kill him and knew a Death Eater family who not only wouldn't kill him but would actually take him in. At risk to their own lives, nonetheless. It was a plan 'B', sure, but not a good one.

Despite his trepidation, though, his feet just followed on habit towards the train, and he soon found himself ensconced with his friends. With the buffer of Hermione and Theo there, he was even able to act normally towards Ron, and almost forget where they were headed. Ron trounced him in chess, which was normal, and Hermione actually got a point off him in Potions knowledge, which wasn't. Nobody seemed to actually find it odd, though - it just earned him some good-natured ribbing and made Hermione unbearably smug for a moment or two. He also wasn't willing to spend any money on food, this time, but again nobody noticed – Hermione had thought ahead and got Harry's house-elf to make them sandwiches, and Theo bought them all cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice to go with them.

In what felt like no time at all, it was evening, and the train whistled and screeched to a stop at King's Cross Station, London.