Molly leaned on the doorway from the kitchen, watching Blaise and noting how he'd found a place crouched against the wall where Arthur and the other children could barely see him. There was space on the love seat next to Percy, but as usual Blaise was making himself as utterly unobtrusive and untouchable as possible. He'd seemed to relax a little at church, but then he'd consented to paint exactly one egg after they got home before cutting out as early as possible afterward, and spending the rest of the afternoon in his room. She'd called him down for dinner, and he'd come promptly, as usual eaten exactly what he was given – including exactly one roll when she insisted – and then gone upstairs again. Apparently he hadn't been able to resist Arthur's reading time, though – he'd crept down again as he'd done every evening of his suspension, and practically hid in his spot by the wall.

Arthur probably knew he was there as well as she did, but he was more patient than she was. The boy hadn't, to the best of her observation, believed a word she'd said to him that afternoon, and if he kept behaving like this, he never would. Basic human bonding behavior just wasn't in this kid's vocabulary. Or at least, not the family stuff. He'd evidently managed to make some friends at school, and even to get Severus very staunchly on his side. But Blaise was showing absolutely no inclination to actually get to know anyone here, or especially to be known. That had to stop.

Patience, she told herself anyway. Patience. She'd talk to Arthur, but after all Blaise had only been there for a day, this time. Bill and Charlie hadn't even met him, yet. None of the children other than Bill and Charlie even knew that Blaise had accepted, because she'd told them not to ask when she and Arthur had first informed them of the plan to adopt the boy. She'd made sure they understood how important it was that Blaise make his decision with as little pressure as possible, and then she'd wanted to wait for Bill and Charlie to come home so they could celebrate properly, together.

So. She couldn't possibly expect the boy to have settled in at all, yet. Still, though, she only had two weeks before the children all went back to Hogwarts. The situation really wasn't ideal, and if Blaise didn't start bonding by then -

Then he'll have to stay, she realized suddenly, relaxing a little at the thought. He wouldn't be the only school-aged wizard who studied magic at home. She'd need a letter from Dumbledore agreeing that it was necessary, but that shouldn't be a problem. Good, she concluded. If she had to, she'd do that. No problem. She didn't want to, if she didn't have to, but family was far more important than school, right now.

Sleeping in was wonderful, but Blaise only managed to sleep until about 6:30 before he was awake enough that his stomach started to tighten up. Pretty quickly, he wanted a distraction, and got up as quietly as he could manage. Fortunately, Ron slept like a log, and he was able to pull his clothing and schoolbooks out of his trunk without disturbing him. In the process, he found the Thestrel sketch he'd started in Snape's office days before. He tried working on it, for a bit, but his stomach didn't loosen at all.

No cleaning, he remembered. No missing meals. No going out without permission.

He had two hours to kill before he had to be down for breakfast, and he knew from experience that Ron would be asleep until Mrs. Weasley called up the ten-minute warning. If drawing wasn't enough of a distraction, schoolwork wasn't going to be, either. Through Ron's window, the sun was just barely under the horizon, leaving the whole world a hazy, misty, pinkish-grey. Warm enough that there was mist, and no frost. Beautiful.

The window let out directly onto a flattish part of the otherwise steeply-sloping roof, and the only other window that looked out on the same roof was on the same floor. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slept in the Master bedroom one floor down, and on the other side of the house, and neither of them would be awake just yet. They couldn't see or hear anything that happened on this side and this floor.

Harry would've been out the window and on that roof in a heartbeat. It took Blaise two.

Once on the roof, Blaise became suddenly aware that Ron's room was on the fifth floor – in the attic, really. Getting down was going to be a challenge, but Blaise didn't hesitate. Heading away from where he knew the master bedroom was, Blaise found lower and lower parts of the roof, and then a tree growing close to the house. It had a branch at the right height...if he hung down. A bit of a scramble and a short drop later, and Blaise was free. He set his watch for eight AM and headed out.

...well, shit. He was an idiot. The ability to climb down a tree did not immediately imply the ability to climb up it. He'd heard that coming down was supposed to be harder, but in this case...he couldn't jump high enough to reach the branch he'd dropped down from. Unless he stole the cooking cauldron from Mrs. Weasley's damned jackalopes, he was stuck. And the cauldron was probably too short to help, anyway. He was in trouble. What the hell was I thinking? he thought suddenly. Why would he take that kind of a risk, just to take a walk at six thirty in the morning? He was seriously going insane, and now he was well and truly screwed.

He was still contemplating the issue and getting up his courage for a try at sneaking in the front door when he heard the creaking slide of a window opening. He looked up, startled – he'd checked carefully for any sort of movement in the windows before he even approached his tree – and saw Fred poking his head out of a second-floor window.

“Pssst!” Fred called. Blaise met eyes with him for a moment, then Fred ducked his head back in, and came out again with a rope ladder in his hands. He flopped it out over the windowsill as Blaise watched.

“Come on!” Fred called softly. “You wanna get caught? I heard what Mum told you!”

Blaise grinned up at him, relieved and somehow wonderfully happy for the help. Brothers, he remembered. It was nice to pretend, and for just a moment, he gave into the temptation. Brothers. Lots of them. What would that be like?

The next moment, George stuck his head out the same window, crowding his twin against the frame.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Do you have any idea how dead you'll be if Mum knows you snuck out?” This time, Blaise didn't hesitate. He clambered up the ladder and got inside just as Mrs. Weasley started calling everyone down for breakfast.

“Where were you?” Ron asked him when they were alone later. “I woke up and you weren't there.”

Blaise hesitated. Would Ron tell on him? No way. He could see Percy telling on him, if he found out, but not Ron.

“I went out for a walk,” Blaise said. “I'd've been back sooner but I couldn't get back in. Fred and George had to help me. Did you know the twins have a ladder tied in their window? They threw it out for me.”

Ron grinned. “Yeah I knew,” he said. “They won't always let me use it, though. They must like you.”

Blaise grinned back, warmed despite himself at the thought. “Nah,” he said anyway. “I'm just new. Probably tomorrow they won't let me.”

Ron snorted. “They love that thing,” he said. “Just like Dad with his funny gadgets from work. Mum probably should've put them on the fifth floor, 'stead of me.”

“Nah,” Blaise said again, still smiling. “Then they'd have five floors of ladder, rather than just one, and they'd break their necks.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Weasley called from downstairs. “Come down, please!”

Blaise startled guiltily at the call, then remembered that he was where he was supposed to be. She'd never know he'd been out unless Ron or one of the twins let it slip.

“Huh,” Ron commented. “Wonder what she wants?”

Bill and Charlie? Blaise wondered privately. But Mrs. Weasley had wanted it to be a surprise. He just shrugged, and followed Ron down the stairs.

“Bill!” Ron shouted exuberantly, barreling into his brother's slim chest.

“Hiya, Ron!” Bill answered. There was no hesitation at all in the arms he threw around his younger brother, and the strength of the hug practically picked Ron up from the floor. Ginny he actually did pick up, and she clasped her legs around his waist and clung like a monkey for her hug, seemingly completely unaware that she was supposed to be too old for that. Even Percy hugged his older brother, though as usual his joy was more reserved.

Blaise didn't quite know what he'd expected, but Bill Weasley wasn't it. He was at least twenty years old, and tall, with hair just long enough to be tied into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had one ear pierced, with a small gold hoop in it. Blaise suspected that Mrs. Weasley didn't like that, but at the moment she was too thrilled at him being home to notice. A moment later, she turned to Blaise, and smilingly took his arm to pull him towards the newcomer.

“Bill, this is Blaise. Blaise, your oldest brother Bill,” she said. She sounded pleased as punch.

Blaise felt his eyes widen a little as she presented him. Somehow, it sounded more like she was showing Blaise to Bill than the other way around – like she wanted to show him off. He'd seen the behavior from the Luxanuses, but he couldn't fathom why Mrs. Weasley would do it. He'd never figured out what to do, in this scenario, so he just stood still and let them look at him, like he'd done meeting Mrs. Weasley for the first time.

“Hello, little brother,” Bill told him. “I'm glad to meet you.”

Blaise felt his breathing catch, and he met Bill's eyes despite himself. The man hadn't seemed surprised to hear Mrs. Weasley tell Blaise that Bill was his brother – and he hadn't hesitated to confirm it, either. Apparently, Mrs. Weasley had told Bill he was being adopted. His throat constricted a little at the thought, and he took a slow, deep breath. Pretending a little was one thing, but hearing a complete stranger call him brother-

“'Little brother'?” he heard one of the twins echo. “Of course she'd tell him first!”

“Oh, as if you didn't guess,” Mrs. Weasley answered him.

So she'd definitely told him, then. And this 'brother' obviously had no more objections than Ron did.

Older brothers were really not something Blaise knew what to do with. He'd never previously been in a family that had any other kids, at all. Everybody he'd lived with previously had been somehow related to him, and Death Eaters for the most part wanted as few children around as possible: enough, maybe, to get an heir, but not enough to even make replacement. The families who already had a child – really just the Malfoys – had no interest in adding another.

We're going to die out, in a generation, he realized suddenly. Malfoy and he were the only children among four sisters and four grandparents. None of the other lines of Blacks had any children of their generation, and neither of them even bore the Black family name. Regulus Black was dead, and Sirius was in Azkaban for life. So much for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The Weasleys certainly didn't have that problem, and yet Mrs. Weasley was still pretending she wanted one more. And this oldest son of hers was calling him brother. Little brother. And Fred and George were rescuing him from his own folly, and Ron was willingly sharing his room and calling him brother, too. The whole family was crazy.

What did one do with ten-years-older men who claimed you as their brother at the first meeting? Bill smiled as Blaise stared, and it was the same smile as Mrs. Weasley gave him, sometimes – compassionate, and faintly worried. Like he was a sick puppy they'd picked up off the street. Blaise twisted his lips a little and hoped it looked like a smile.

This was why Bill was here, he realized, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Bill and Charlie were here for Easter, but Bill had already known what was going on when he'd arrived – he'd expected this introduction. Mrs. Weasley had called her oldest sons home to meet him. For all he knew, they'd taken off work in order to do it. What must they think of him? Did they know where he'd come from?

And he was just – staring, Blaise realized. He hadn't even returned the greeting. “Hello,” Blaise managed. “...Thank you.”

'Nice to meet you' would've been a lie. 'Panicked' was closer. There was no way Mrs. Weasley was going to let him just spend the day in Ron's room, now. He could hear his own blood pounding in his ears, and took another deep breath, hoping to quiet it.

“You get a hug, too,” Bill informed him finally. He stepped forward, and did as he'd warned.

As usual, Blaise couldn't return his hug, and was grateful that the darkness of his skin made his blush unnoticeable.

Bill smiled teasingly. “You'll get used to it, around here,” he told Blaise.

“Bill!” Mrs. Weasley scolded. “Have you never heard of a little tact?”

“Nope,” Bill told her. “And I get to hug my siblings. It's the rules.”

Mrs. Weasley maintained her glare for all of half a second before she gave up and beamed at her oldest son, clearly absolutely thrilled at his words. As before, Blaise felt like he was watching through the slightly uneven glass of a fishbowl, listening to the conversation through inches of water. There, yet somehow – separate. Just a pair of eyes watching other people move and talk and hearing himself respond.

How on earth was Mrs. Weasley going to extricate herself from this situation, now? Now everybody knew that Blaise was being adopted, she was presumably working on the paperwork, her oldest sons had come home specifically to meet their “little brother”, and Bill at least was evidently as determined as she was to make him family. Where was her contingency plan? Did she have no notion that she and Arthur might want to back out of this thing?

No, she doesn't, he realized. She really, actually doesn't. She has no 'Plan B', at all. Had it really never occurred to the woman that she might want to try out the idea, first? See how it would go; see how he would fit into the family?

She really, actually, meant to keep him, he realized with a shock. No matter what. She'd honestly made that much of a commitment, on purpose, without even knowing him. He couldn't- he didn't-

Everybody's attention was on Bill. As quietly as he could, Blaise extricated himself from the happy crowd and went into the house...and left straight out the back door. He was running before he even got off the landing.

Bill watched his new little brother carefully, noticing as he turned and quietly escaped the crowd, face absolutely still. He hoped he hadn't scared the poor kid too badly. They were a pretty overwhelming sort of family, even for adults to visit, and Blaise didn't even seem like a normal child. Mum had warned him, some. He is very shy, at least with Arthur and I, she'd said in the letter asking him to take leave from work and come home. I think he's friendly with Ron and the Twins, when we're not around, but he seems to avoid your father and me as much as he can. He hadn't expected the boy to take one look at him and flee, though.

“Mum?”

They all looked up at the word, going abruptly silent. There was just something in Percy's tone that alerted them. Percy was standing in the doorway to the house, uncertainty unusually obvious in his posture. He'd said 'Mum' instead of his usual over-dignified 'Mother', Bill realized.

“I was coming out of the bathroom and I saw-” he cut off, clearly unsure about what he was reporting. “Did Blaise ask to go on a walk, or something? Only, he just headed out the back door, and-” He cut off again. “Mum, I think he's run off,” he managed finally. “He was moving fast, and he didn't even see me and I think- he really didn't look happy...”

He'd fled, Bill realized in an instant. Really, actually fled. He'd just thought the boy had gone into the house to hide for a bit. “Am I that scary?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“No,” Mum told him softly. “He's just that scared. I talked to him yesterday about not acting like a house-elf...” she trailed off, and Bill realized that she was sheet white behind her freckles, her entire face drawn down in horror and fear.

Blaise had fled, Molly realized, guilt-stricken. She'd pushed him into actually running away.

“Do we go after him?” Bill asked her.

Did they go after him? She was frozen, her heart pounding so hard in her chest it was as loud as her oldest son's voice. Did they go after him?

“N-no,” she said finally, speaking over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. The calm tone felt monstrously false – like it was somebody else's voice. Her son. Her son had run from her. “I don't want to be chasing him down if he's already running.”

“What if he doesn't come back, though?”

That was Percy, she realized, his voice devoid of its usual pomposity. It was unusual for him to sound at all worried, especially about something that wasn't school-related. It made him sound very young.

“He doesn't have anywhere else he can go,” Molly told him, calming some at the truth in her own words. “If the clock says he's lost, we can go find him, but as long as he knows where he is and he's not in danger, we need to give him some time to calm down and come back on his own.”

“Didn't you say he's a recent blood-traitor?” Bill asked her. “What if-?”

“He's on foot,” Molly told him. “He can't apparate, so he can't get anywhere really dangerous to him. I'll go after him in a half-hour or so if he hasn't returned by then.”

The sense of animal panic eventually died down, and Blaise found himself on his knees, panting and sweating with exertion and fear. He'd run. Like a hunted animal. He was in the middle of some woods. Abruptly, his stomach heaved, and he leaned forward just in time to throw up all over the dry leaves and moss instead of his knees. He spat out as much as he could, but he had no water with him. Nor any other supplies other than his wand. The traceable one. He was an idiot.

Where did he go, now? Back? His head swam and his stomach heaved again at the thought, but mercifully he didn't actually throw up this time. He couldn't go back. No way could he go back to that house full of people and Mrs. Weasley and her rules. Not after having run away in blatant defiance of all of them. There was no way she wouldn't've noticed his absence, by now. He couldn't go back.

Fortunately, while she didn't have a plan 'B', he did.

But he'd need his stuff. He couldn't just leave it all behind and expect Mr. Nott to purchase new clothing and school books for him on top of everything else. It was already iffy that the man would help him at all.

The very thought of going back made him want to throw up again, and he took a deep breath to try to calm down. Not now. NOT now.

Tonight, he realized. The Weasleys didn't lock the back door at night. He could sneak back in, get his stuff, and then leave. He didn't have to face the family again.

Merlin, but he was horrible. He was going to throw everything they offered him back in their faces for no reason he could rationally discern. He was a coward...and an idiot. Was he really going to burn out his one contingency plan without anybody actually making him leave? Whatever Mrs. Weasley did, she wasn't going to kick him out for this. Not this soon after having introduced him to her oldest son and told the others she was going to adopt him. If nothing else, that would be far too embarrassing for her.

But she was going to end up not wanting him, even if she didn't actually kick him out.

But was that really worse than her actually doing so? He was taken care of, here! What was so horrible about a roof over his head and plenty of food and kind treatment? Why the panic? If Mrs. Weasley thought she was keeping him, so much the better!

There was no point in his going further away. He was probably already a couple of miles from the Burrow, it wasn't like they were going to stumble into him. If he went further, it would just make it more difficult to come back for his stuff. Really, he ought to head back while he still had a rough sense of the direction he'd come from. If he lost that, he'd be sunk.

For a moment, he was frozen with indecision, but the smell of his own sick finally forced him to his feet. Still, he just stood. It made no sense to go further away, but he couldn't make his feet turn him around, either.

But he was not just going to stand here over a pile of his own sick-up. No way, no how. Shaking his head, he walked another mile or so away from the house before finally making himself stop. It was going to be lame enough going without any food or water until evening if he didn't exhaust himself going further away than necessary.

She couldn't find him, Molly realized with increasing worry. She had nothing to track him with, no notion of what direction he'd gone in...she'd walked a mile straight out from the back door, calling all the time, and there'd been no answer. None at all. And a mile out, the circle was just getting too large to search properly, even with all of them and magic. The boy wasn't even of her blood, to search for him that way.

He'd missed lunch, again, she realized. Or lunchtime, at least. She hadn't actually prepared a real lunch, today, nor had anybody asked for it. Everybody had fanned out looking for Blaise.

Should she have chased him down while it was still possible? What if he didn't come back? Where could he go, with no supplies, not even food and water? How could she find him?

The clock had never shown 'lost', so wherever Blaise was, he still didn't intend to come home. He'd truly cleared off. Again.

Damn that clock. It was really only marginally useful, more of a sentimental novelty than a survival tool. “Run away from home” wasn't a category she'd thought to tell the clockmaker to include, even though “prison” and “mortal peril” had both occurred to her, what with the twins getting into trouble since they could walk. Oddly enough, the clock wasn't showing “traveling,” either, so it didn't seem the boy was really going anywhere, either. Or, at least, not anywhere the clock understood as “traveling.” The thing could be a bit odd and arbitrary in its choices, even between the categories she had thought to include.

And Blaise was off somewhere in the woods, neither 'lost' nor 'home' nor 'traveling'. Just 'out and about,' exactly like he'd gone on a walk again. She hoped that meant he would come home on his own, but she'd keep looking anyway. It seemed irrational, but she couldn't just sit around and pretend like everything was normal, either.

One hour. Two hours. Dinner. Bedtime. Where was he? Molly had gone out to call, Arthur had gone out to call, they'd all walked out looking, they'd finally come in to eat, then they'd gone out again. The worst part was, Molly's useless clock still didn't say 'lost'. Wherever the boy was, he was probably still staying out deliberately. He'd truly run away from them.

Molly had called him at work when the boy had only been gone half an hour. He'd explained to his boss and the man had told him to go home. But he felt useless. He'd been friendly with Blaise, both during his detention and since he'd been home for Easter break, but he'd had to work, too. The family couldn't afford for him to take off, even to get to know his own son. All he'd ever gotten out of the boy was brief, polite answers before the boy somehow pulled a third party into the conversation and then escaped from it himself. He managed to not come off prickly, or angry, or anything – just incredibly elusive and impossible to get to know.

Molly had finally got more out of him yesterday before church, Arthur remembered. It had seemed like such progress, finally, like they'd gotten the smallest little toehold. He could finally understand some of why the boy was so determined not to get to know them. You don't want me, Ma'am. Like Molly was a little child who thought she wanted a pet monkey and didn't realize how much trouble it would be.

Arthur had hoped that the boy would relax some, enough to have some fun and show his real personality and very likely get into normal eleven-year-old boy trouble with the rest of his siblings. Molly had told him about the early morning cleaning, and how the boy had shown some resistance when she'd forbidden it – the first thing he'd shown other than respect and stiff obedience since they'd met him. It had given Arthur some hope that something, at least, was going on in the boy's head. That something was changing.

And then he'd run away. What on earth had they done to scare the boy so badly? Was being asked not to act like a house-elf and to let them show him how to join in family activities really that bad?

He'd had hope, when Blaise had finally showed a little anger at Molly's insistence that they actually wanted him. He'd finally actually told them why he didn't think the adoption would work. Molly had promised they'd teach them. He'd thought the boy had even listened to her. Who knew what Blaise really thought of it, though. Arthur still didn't think the boy believed them. After all, he'd promptly cleared off, which violated at least two of the rules Molly had listed.

Which is further evidence that he doesn't intend to return, Arthur realized with a sudden chill. The boy had been absolutely determined, so far, not to be trouble, and Molly had made it impossible for Blaise not to realize that leaving without permission before lunch and not returning for hours was 'trouble'. He had to be calm, by now, and he still hadn't returned. It was definitely starting to look like he wasn't going to.

Bill was outside wandering the woods, somewhere, though he had to know that there was far too much area to search, especially if Blaise hid from him or continued to move away. Molly had sent the other children to bed, though she was showing no signs of going to bed herself. It was full dark out already, and she was sensible enough to realize that if she hadn't found him during the day, she wasn't going to be able to now. But she was still going outside at intervals to call for him, apparently hoping that wherever he was hiding, he could hear her. Arthur doubted it. Still, he'd stay up with her and pray. It at least made him feel like he was doing something.

“Molly,” he told her when she came back in. “We need to plan what to do tomorrow.”

She looked at him, and frowned. “Tomorrow?” she asked him.

“I was thinking I would go in as soon as they're open and file a missing persons report,” he told her gently.

“The ministry...” she answered, her voice shaking a little. “What will they do, if they find him, when he doesn't want to come back?”

The pain in her voice was obvious. “He's under age,” Arthur told her. “And we've been granted temporary guardianship pending the adoption. The aurors will bring him back here.”

“Aurors?” Molly protested. “He's not a criminal! And I don't know where he thinks he's going, but if he truly doesn't want to be here...I don't want them to force him back if he doesn't want to come...”

“He is eleven years old,” Arthur answered her gravely. “He does not have the right to choose. We didn't technically need to ask him before starting the adoption paperwork.”

Molly gave him a pained look, and he spoke again, trying to reassure her. “He did agree, Molly. He's just scared right now. You heard what he said, before. He does not believe that we really want him here.”

Molly snorted lightly. “No,” she said. “He believes us that we want him right now, he just thinks that that'll go away once we actually get to know him.”

Arthur managed to lift his lips at that, but he was aware that it was a very strained sort of smile. “He had a good try trying to convince us, didn't he?” he told her. “And yet he still failed to tell us anything about himself, only a little about his family life. He might not realize it yet, but he is one of us. We just need to convince him.”

“Even against his will?” Molly demanded.

“If necessary,” Arthur told her. “He is our son. He does not get to decide not to be, especially when he has nowhere else to go. If he doesn't come back on his own, we'll ask for aurors, and maybe ask some of the old Order for help. I doubt that they'll actually have to actually drag him back – just track him down.”

Molly winced at the word 'drag', but nodded sadly. They were silent, for a moment, but then she spoke up again, her voice sounding defeated. “He's really not going to come home, is he?” she said.

No, he's not. It was almost tempting, to just decide that there was no hope. Then, at least, this awful waiting would be over. But that was neither rational nor virtuous.

“We'll see,” Arthur told his wife. “Perhaps in the dark and cold of the night, he will change his mind.”

Molly sighed. “I'll just keep calling, then,” she told him.

Arthur watched her walk out, indecisive. The boy was much more likely to come back for Molly, than for him, and two of them calling wouldn't help more than just one. It was better to just sit, and wait, and plan, and pray.

Yet somehow, as little time as he'd spent with the boy, he knew his fear was nearly as strong as Molly's. The image of Blaise quietly sitting against the wall, refusing to even sit on the couch with them, but listening just the same, seemed seared into his brain. His son. This was his son, wandering in the woods for hours and hours. Still not lost – or no more lost than he was at home, at any rate. Either the boy had an amazing sense of direction, he wasn't moving, or he'd found his way into town.

If he'd gotten to town and had been carrying a few coins, the boy could be anywhere, by now. Molly was right that he'd've had to apparate, to get anywhere in ten minutes, but it had been hours, now.

But the town was miles away, and Blaise had never seen it. The clock would've showed lost. Which meant that the boy was still in the woods, somewhere. That really didn't feel any better.

They weren't going to find him, now. The boy would have to come home on his own. But it was looking less and less likely that he would do so.

“BLAAISE!” he heard, then. He winced. Poor Molly. He could hear her exhaustion in her voice, and still she called and called. The likelihood that the boy would come home was getting smaller by the hour, but he couldn't help but hope, too, that Blaise would hear Molly's calling and come home.