“Arthur,” Molly greeted, coming to Arthur to kiss him as he entered the house. She heard her relief in her voice, even over just the one word. She'd been worrying all afternoon about Severus' little project, as well as about what to do with their own wayward son. “Welcome home.”

Arthur gave her a somewhat wary look as he put his battered briefcase down beside the door. “Something wrong, Molly?” he asked her.

Molly shook her head, but found herself smiling, her anxiety melting away. “All kinds of things, none of them really very serious,” she admitted. “But I do need to talk to you.”

“Alright,” Arthur told her easily. “Let's have some tea in the kitchen then, shall we?”

Tea. Of course. She had said it wasn't serious, hadn't she? And he'd just gotten home from work. He was tired, too. Besides that, she knew that her husband's way of taking a deep breath and slowing down to talk things over was helpful. But it was hard not to hurry him, and she fought not to ring her hands as he calmly found the teapot and the packet of tea and filled the pot with water before spelling the water to a boil and adding the tea. Leaving it to steep, he found their sugar jar and the milk and put them both directly on the table.

“I'm listening, Molly,” he told her, turning back to find a clean plate and open the biscuit tin.

He was, too, she knew. Still, she waited for him to sit, trying to absorb his calm. They were polar opposites, in this regard, but it really was good for her to try to do things at his pace, at least some of the time. When he was settled, she finally spoke. “Ronald is suspended from school,” she told him first.

He met her eyes. “Ah,” he said, with a slight smile. “What'd he do, then?”

Molly frowned, fretting. Arthur was most likely smiling for her sake, not wanting her to feel bad for bringing this to him when he'd just gotten home from work. But Arthur was so soft-hearted. He truly hated when one of their children was in trouble, and she usually didn't mention anything to him that happened while he was at work. This kind of thing was her job, usually. But this really was a whole-family affair, given the suspension.

“You remember the notice we got in August about the precautions taken to keep students away from the third floor corridor?” she asked.

Arthur abruptly set his mug of tea down on the table, clearly rattled. “They didn't,” he said.

“He did,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Not the twins, Ronald. Along with Harry, Hermione, and – you'll never guess – Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Apparently, they are long-time friends. I hadn't realized Ronald was capable of keeping a secret for that long.”

She frowned. Come to think of it, Ronald had three other siblings at Hogwarts, who must have known about the friendship, and equally had managed to keep it out of her knowledge. Even Percy. What else was going on at Hogwarts that she didn't know about?

“...anyway, they got all the way through, despite what sounds like some phenominally hard trials and high risk, at which point they all got caught at the end of the chamber and suspended. Ronald is upstairs.”

Arthur sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, overtly tired. “I'll speak to him,” he told her regretfully. “Do you want to bring him down here, or should I go up and talk to him privately?”

“Actually,” Molly told him hesitantly, “...there's more. I do want you to talk with him, but first-” she frowned and cut off, unsure quite what to say about the issue. Arthur gave her a questioning look, and she finally just decided to talk, and sort it out afterwards. “It's like this,” she told him. “I mentioned the other boy...Blaise Zabini. He's the child of Belladonna and Fernando Zabini, but his mother was imprisoned for killing, among others, his father. The boy's been living with the Luxanuses for two years.”

Arthur was listening patiently, but he clearly hadn't caught the thread yet, and Molly realized she was stalling. Not out of the fear that he'd veto the idea...but actually quite the opposite. She couldn't bring herself to refuse the boy – couldn't live with herself if she did – but she wasn't sure if she was ready for such a huge change to their family, so quickly.

Ronald really didn't understand how having him here for his suspension and for Easter was different than having him visit...but that hadn't really been what Severus had been looking for in talking to her. If it had been, Severus would've found a way for the boy to stay at Hogwarts, or visit the Grangers. He'd talked to her, specifically.

“...who've kicked him out,” she spat out finally. “And declared him blood-traitor. For refusing to give information about Harry and Severus at the time of the adoption. The boy's been homeless for months and didn't say a word. As it turns out, though, he's been good friends with Ron and Harry since the beginning of the school year. Severus came to me this afternoon asking if we'd take him in.”

She ran out of words, and just looked at her husband, willing him to have a different thought than she did.

Arthur looked at her, frowning, then closed his eyes and tipped his head back to think for a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. “Yes,” he said. “Of course. What else can we do?”

Molly looked at her husband, loving him enormously even as her heart thudded in her chest. “Arthur,” she said softly. “His mother is Belladonna Zabini. He's been raised by Death Eaters...”

He gave her a slight smile. “The boy's a blood traitor, Molly,” he said soothingly. “And he's only eleven years old. Who better is he really going to find?” He smiled more widely, abruptly seeming less tired. “Besides, are you really going to tell me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Blaise Zabini, raised by...well, us? You can't see the irony in that?”

Molly tried to frown, but it ended up teasing. “Arthur Weasley, we can not take the boy for the sake of some kind of a joke!” But she knew what he meant. They were the most famous family of blood traitors in all of wizardom. The idea really did have a lovely kind of...rightness.

She just...hadn't really planned for the amount of work involved in adopting and bonding with a damaged eleven-year-old child. She'd thought Severus was nuts, and now here she was...

“Alright,” she told her husband. “All right. I suppose...yes, all right.”

“Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise looked up from the Potions homework he'd unfolded neatly onto a common room table and met his head-of-house's serious gaze.

“Are you packed, Mr. Zabini?” the man asked.

“Yes, sir,” Blaise said steadily, indicating the trunk at his side. He was damned good at it by now, wasn't he? Fortunately the Luxanuses had provided him with new clothing only shortly before things blew up. He had good-quality, well-fitting clothing, his school books for the year, and enough galleons to buy the books and clothing for the next. They'd last. Hogwarts had been paid for in his father's will. All he needed for now was food and a bed. Maybe a desk.

Yeah, great. I have those things at Hogwarts. I decided that getting myself suspended was a good idea why? He'd been taken care of until at least Easter, before this. And he could've stayed at Hogwarts for the Easter holidays, surely. It was only two weeks. And then what, genius? What exactly was your plan for the summer? He'd've had to throw himself on Snape's mercy at that point, anyway.

Hey, the man owes me, he told himself firmly. Slytherins were not above a little guilt manipulation. Or straight up blackmail. Snape would probably not simply kill him. Kinda nice that that's not necessary though, isn't it? Perhaps getting himself suspended wasn't as stupid as it seemed.

“Come on then,” Snape told him. “Mrs. Weasley will be coming to pick you up in my office.”

“Mrs. Weasley?” Blaise asked. Hadn't Snape said he was going to stay with him? “Not that I mind,” he said quickly. “But-”

“Mrs. Weasley,” Snape repeated, indicating for him to grab his trunk. “I spoke to her about the possibility of you staying with her for the Easter holidays, and she agreed. Your friend Ronald asked if you could stay for your suspension, too, and she was kind enough to say you could come early.”

“I am grateful,” Blaise said carefully. Or at least I'm aware that I should be. At the moment, he couldn't manage to feel it. It was kind of her to take him for his suspension and Easter break. That gave him a place to go for the rest of the school year, so that the countdown on the amount of time Snape was willing to keep him didn't start until then. The best he could usually expect was about nine months. The Luxanuses had been the longest yet - almost two years.

But he was in school, now. He'd be mainly out from under foot. Maybe people would be willing to take him for longer, if he wasn't actually living in their homes for more than a couple weeks at a time? Summer is longer, though. And he was older, now. The 'cute' factor was well over with. But then he was cleverer, now. More useful. Certainly the Luxanuses hadn't minded him helping out, when he could. And now that he was learning more magic-

Yeah, great. I can kill a troll. I'm sure this Mrs. Weasley has all sorts of those around. But he could still damned well scrub. Not everybody had a house-elf. And the Weasleys are the last people I would expect to have the type of home to attract one. But then how were they paying for him? Three weeks, with four days off in the middle. It's just not that long, is all. But that pretty much confirmed that those three weeks were the best he could expect. Unless, maybe, he could work hard enough to actually earn his keep? He was almost old enough to get working papers.

His brain had wandered, and now Snape was staring at him, expression unreadable. The silence had gone on too long.

“Zabini-” he started. His tone was easier to read than his face.

“Don't,” Blaise cut him off sharply, then closed his eyes. Perfect kid, he reminded himself. He'd loosened up a little, since he'd lived with the Luxanuses for so long. He couldn't afford that sort of freedom now.

He'd already stepped in it, with this last suspension. He'd been somehow completely unable to care what happened to him, even knowing how dependent he was on Snape's good opinion, so now he had to play catch-up. But he was not going to be able to have the conversation Snape wanted without losing all pride.

“Your pardon,” he told Snape, making it as sincere as he could. “I would prefer not to talk about it, please.”

Snape's expression didn't change, but he nodded. “Very well, Mr. Zabini. Just come with me.”

So this is the son of Belladona Zabini, Molly thought, looking down at the boy. It wasn't hard to believe, looking at him. The high cheekbones, luminous dark skin, almond-shaped eyes, and striking gaze made her immediately think of the images in the papers when the beautiful murderess was finally arrested. The boy was a lot darker than his mother, but other than that, it was his mother that she saw. You're going to be a very pretty young man someday, she thought, surprised. If he'd manage to smile, anyway. Not that she could expect him to under the circumstances.

“Blaise, this is Molly Weasley,” Severus told the boy.

Blaise looked up, meeting her eyes squarely. “Blaise Zabini, Ma'am,” he said. “Thank you for receiving me.”

So formal. The boy sounded like a particularly stiff adult, not an eleven-year-old. She met his eyes in return and put as much warmth as she could into her smile and tone. “No trouble at all, Blaise. You are quite welcome in our home.”

She felt her brow crease as she observed the boy. Having greeted her properly, he focused his gaze politely on her face, keeping his expression vaguely pleasant and allowing her to look at him. And he's looking at my face, not my eyes. She was not the most imposing of figures, she was well aware, and nothing in what Ronald had told her of his friend had indicated this – caution. Well- maybe he had. Blaise is so serious lately. Worse than Harry, even, sometimes. Ronald was not usually given to understatement, but in this case...

By 'serious', he means scared stiff, she realized. Bless Ronald, to see a friend in trouble and think that the natural solution was to bring him home. She couldn't fix everything.

But it looked like Severus' evaluation would prove scarily accurate. He will be nothing if not polite, he'd said. If nothing else, he knows he has nowhere else to go.

But he'd also described the boy as another troublemaker like Harry, and the boy before her didn't look like he'd ever have the audacity to even raise his voice.

Merlin, poor child. How many times had he thanked people for taking him in, only to have them send him away again as soon as he'd settled? If he even allows himself to settle in, by now. Severus had not been able to tell her how many homes the boy had been through, but already she was thinking a lot.

It was a little soon, to tell him what Arthur and she had planned. Let him get to know them a little bit, first. But the instinct to try to reassure him was strong.

“It'll be okay, Blaise,” she told him gently. “We'll work this out.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he agreed politely.

“Call me Mrs. Weasley, dear,” she told him. She didn't quite want him calling her by her first name, but Mrs. Weasley was a little more personal, at least.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” he answered obediently. It might as well have been ma'am. She kept her sigh purely internal. She'd known what they were committing to, at least in theory. It really shouldn't be a surprise that the boy was...cold.

“Alright dear,” she told him, taking his trunk and holding out an old wool cap. “Come on. It's a portkey. Just grab hold.”

She met eyes with Severus just before leaving, but he didn't seem to have anything to offer her beyond a vaguely helpless look. He'd done what he could – he'd sent the boy to her.

And why did everybody suddenly think she could fix everything? She was just one woman with a large family, trying to make ends meet. She could not assume the responsibility for every unwanted child in the wizarding world. Even if she were going to try, she had to admit, she would not normally have started with the only son of a Death Eater and the woman who would eventually murder him. Surely blood had something to do with how a child turned out? But he did choose our side, she told herself. Arthur was right. If the boy was truly a blood-traitor, he belonged with them. They'd manage somehow.

She felt the tug as the portkey took off, and then she was spinning off towards home.

They set down at the top of a hill, and Mrs. Weasley led him down a scraggly path through a thin stretch of woods and a field.

“Welcome to the Burrow, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told him when they finally got there.

The Burrow, Blaise thought. That's...apt. The place looked like nothing so much as a giant, teetering, communal birds nest – all unstable, piled-up layers of various mismatched materials probably gleaned magpie-like from somebody's scrap heap. Apparently chimneys had been on clearance – the structure had at least five of them, none of which matched.

How many people live here? he wondered, spotting a pile of rubber boots outside the front door. Surely that was at least four pairs? And what was with the cauldron tipped over on the lawn? Admittedly he didn't know Mrs. Weasley very well, but she didn't seem the type to simply throw refuse out the front door. If that is the front door. It was hard to tell, given the somewhat random placement of the windows everywhere.

“There's a jackalope living in the pot, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told him, apparently having noticed him looking. “I didn't have the heart to evict her, and now she's got a whole little brood in there. I know it looks terrible.”

“Don't worry about it,” Blaise said automatically, still taking the place in. That explained the pot – sort of - but what about the chickens pecking around the gardens? Were they food? Pets? This is about the strangest place I've ever stepped foot in, Blaise thought.

And tiny. How the hell was he going to stay out of the way of four people living here? But wait...two adult Weasleys, Ron, the twins...Percy. That was already six. And hadn't Ron mentioned a sister? And maybe an older brother, too? In Bulgaria, or somewhere like that? So at least seven, actually. The older brother probably didn't actually live here.

And for this week, at least, they're all at school. Except the younger sister, presumably. So for now, the two adults, Ron, and the younger sister. Ron, at least, wouldn't mind him being around. For now.

“You'll be upstairs, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “In Ronald's room. He's got an extra bed. I haven't had a chance to ask any of the others if they'd mind you taking over their room. You can move in a day or two.”

Oh hell no. “No!” Blaise told her quickly. “No, it's okay. I'll be fine in with Ron, so long as he doesn't mind.”

“None of us mind, dear,” Mrs. Weasley told him, looking at him.

Not yet, Blaise thought. She pitied his position, but she obviously really couldn't keep him.

“Did you help him?”

Severus looked at Harry and frowned. Harry was standing just outside the door to his room, having clearly come out as soon as he'd heard the floo. Which could be construed as defiance. The boy had only just been grounded, and Severus sent him to his room for the afternoon while he went to talk to Mrs. Weasley.

But he knew Harry very well, by now, and this was to his knowledge the very first time Harry had ever left his room without permission after being sent there. The boy seemed to take the cracked-open door as some sort of sacred pact.

Which made it very unlikely that the boy was deliberately defying him now, especially given how much trouble he was in after exploring the 3rd-floor corridor with Zabini and the other 'Slythindors'. Most likely, Harry had simply forgotten about his restrictions as soon as Severus came home. He must've been really worried for his friend.

The fact remained, though, that he'd told Harry to stay in his room, and the boy had disobeyed. Harry was very, very grounded, and for very good reason. It wouldn't hurt to remind him of that, though it would scare him.

Severus kept his grimace off his face. He needed to push, a little. He now knew well enough how to avoid scaring Harry, but if he truly never scared the boy, Harry would never learn that there was nothing to fear. Severus had learned quickly that if he didn't find those opportunities, Harry was more than capable of doing so. His son seemed to need to destruction-test every possible scenario for things going wrong that he could think of. This was a very minor one. Yes, you really can mess up further, right now, and it still won't blow up in your face.

“You need to go back into your room,” Snape reminded the boy instead of answering his question.

As he'd somewhat expected, Harry froze, and looked at him with wide eyes. “I forgot!” he said immediately. “Sorry!” He headed back to his room, and, tellingly, shut the door completely. Another thing that the boy never willingly did. Harry couldn't bear to have that door closed, especially if he was in any kind of trouble. He had to know he could get out.

Severus sighed, and closed his eyes, once again fighting back the anger provoked by that closed door and its implied offer. Of course Harry would assume that he'd lost the privilege of having his door open. Of course he'd think Severus would use his fear to punish him. And this when the boy had already been his son for several months.

Destruction testing. He'd almost suspect the boy of setting up the situation on purpose, except that Harry was currently too freaked for that. It had been hard getting him to eat this morning. There was no way the boy would start something, now.

He wanted to follow the boy, but – “Better to be locked in than dragged out.” Harry had said that to him. He could never, ever, follow the boy into the room without asking first.

One thing at a time, he decided. Approaching the door quietly, he once again pulled it open, and called gently through the door. “I'm not angry, Harry,” he told the boy. “And yes, I did help Blaise. He is at home with the Weasleys.”

At first, Harry didn't answer, but Severus waited a bit to be sure he wasn't going to, and was rewarded. “Wh-what happened?” he asked softly.

“That is for him to tell you,” Snape told him. “But you were quite right that he needed help. He'll be alright, now.”

“Oh,” Harry said. There was a brief pause, again, but then he answered. “Good,” he said. “...thank you. I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

Severus frowned. Yelled at him? Oh. Yes, the boy had been angry with him, the night before, when Severus had initially focussed on the danger to Harry instead of on Blaise. “You are my first priority, Harry,” he told him firmly. “Always. But I will care for Blaise, too. Do not worry.”

Even to the point of taking the boy in himself, he realized. But he really hoped he didn't have to do that. Money would be tight, for one thing, and really, Blaise needed more concentration than he could give him, right now. Harry was still...damaged. Really damaged. He needed all that Severus could offer him.

The boy...watched her, Molly realized that first week. He barely said a word other than the basic polite pleasantries, but he watched everything, his gaze sharp and intelligent, evaluating. Also Ron and Arthur and Ginny, but especially her. It was a little...creepy, actually, and Ron kept giving him – and her - worried looks, but Molly realized after only three days what Blaise was doing.

Blaise had come home with her Tuesday evening. By Friday, the boy knew – to a tee – exactly what to do, when. When to wake up, when to come down to help set up for breakfast, how they worked the dish cleaning spell on the sink and where all the dishes went after they were clean and dry. He knew where all the cleaning supplies were kept, and was always quicker than her to get to them if there was any sort of a spill or mess after a meal. He was even pushing the laundry along, if she didn't get to it within five minutes of that finishing.

Most importantly, and most tellingly, he knew how to disappear, entirely, as soon as he ran out of tasks. It was like having a particularly shy house-elf. The only time she ever saw the boy was when he was cleaning something, or when Arthur read to Ginny in the evenings and the boy crept out to listen quietly in a doorway. He didn't even sit down.

And she. Did not. Like. it. No child should be that perfectly behaved. Especially not a child who was evidently a “trouble maker” at school. And he was evidently going on the assumption that she didn't actually want him there, which just wasn't true. She was nervous about it, sure, but part of her loved the crazy idea.

But what to do with the boy? She absolutely agreed with Arthur that they needed to commit to taking him, but she hadn't a clue how to pull him out of his shell! She'd never had a quiet child before. What if the boy was miserable, with them? What would they do, then?

Mrs. Weasley wasn't pleased, Blaise knew. He didn't know exactly why she wasn't pleased, but though she was very kind – and very inclined to touch him, which he really didn't mind, despite having no real idea what to do with it – he could not please her. She smiled at him to his face, sure, but her eyes creased into worried crow's feet every time she thought he wasn't looking. It wasn't the overblown pity he'd occasionally gotten from female relatives when he was little, either – it was something more genuine.

Which was probably a problem. Sure, she'd keep him for a little while out of pity, but if his presence was actually making her unhappy, he had to fix it or he'd be out again in a couple of months.

Problem was, he really didn't know how. He was doing everything he knew how to do. It had worked with the Luxanuses. They might've even kept him for real, if he hadn't suddenly found himself fighting on the wrong side. They'd even seemed to like him, or at least to like bragging to their friends about his mother's pureblood lineage.

Mrs. Weasley... well, she didn't dislike him, precisely, but he was making her unhappy. It really didn't matter why, nor did it matter that Ron was also worried or that Mr. Weasley tried to engage him in conversation and seemed blithely oblivious to Blaise's unwillingness to talk. If someone was going to get tired of his presence, it would be Mrs. Weasley, who was home all day and who wasn't, for some reason, satisfied with his efforts to get along.

Most likely, she wanted him to be more affectionate, or something. Unfortunately, Blaise was aware he'd largely lost that ability. He certainly couldn't fake it. Harry had figured it out, some, largely because Snape hadn't really expected it, and what Snape had expected he'd actually taught him. Just...grabbed him and taught him. It had been a freaking miracle of the type Blaise really couldn't expect for himself.

At any rate, it meant that Blaise probably couldn't expect much, this time. Blaise was a Death Eater's kid, raised by, if not always Death Eaters, at least not blood traitors. Molly Weasley's soul was so clean it squeaked. It was a good thing Blaise had Snape to fall back on, for awhile. Mrs. Weasley was just too...not a Death Eater. Way, way too not a Death Eater to want to keep Blaise for very long.