Blaise sat stiffly in her arms for nearly the entire five minutes before he even started to soften. But she'd promised, and she let him go with one last squeeze as soon as the Numerus charm indicated 'zero'. Sorry, mum. It had sounded...different, that time - not nearly as rote – and she felt her heart warm every time she thought of it. Progress, at last. Just a little, but real. He'd called her mum, and almost sounded like he knew what that meant.

“Good boy,” she told him softly as she let him go. “Thank you. Now, would you like to come down to the kitchen with me, or shall I go and bring your breakfast up?”

Blaise let out a muffled, but real groan, at that, and Molly found herself grinning at him. “I like taking care of you, Blaise,” she told him. “You'll just have to get used to it. So, which will it be?”

As usual, Blaise didn't meet her eyes, and this time he shrugged. Molly could practically watch the shields come back up with the gesture. Nope, access denied. Blaise Zabini does not voice opinions to nosy old biddies who want to Do Him Good. But after Blaise's disappearance, she was done backing off and not interfering.

“That won't do, Blaise,” she told him gently. “I'm perfectly happy to do either but you've got to pick one. Flip a coin if you have to, I don't care, but choose one.”

It broke the ice, somewhat – enough that she got a brief look under lowering brows. That simmering anger, again. This one was going to be trouble, once he let himself go. He will be nothing if not polite, Severus had said. Well, she wasn't having that. She'd take an angry son over a polite stranger, any day. She just looked down at Blaise, and waited.

There was something in his movements, as he bent over to open his trunk and find a knut; a defiance that hadn't been there, before. He flipped his coin and it came up Wands. “I'll come down,” he told her, face impassive.

For all she knew, the coin had been entirely for show, and this was actually his preference, but she couldn't tell. Certainly the boy was making his opinion of her known. Should she remind him that that was actually the goal?

“Wonderful,” she told him cheerfully, ignoring the provocation. “Come on, then.”

Blaise followed Mrs. Weasley silently, reminding himself sharply to pack it in. Just because she was being bloody annoying – and deliberately so – did not give him license to snarl at her. He'd given this woman a hell of a day yesterday. He really didn't need to make things worse today. It's her own fault if she had a hell of a day, some devil in him responded. She didn't have to keep calling like that. She could've just as well spent the day with her family and gone to bed and I'd've been out of her hair by morning. It's her own fault if she's tired, now.

When they got downstairs, Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen, peaceably tidying up from breakfast alongside Ron. Percy was there, too, dressed in his usual stiff style and seemingly working on something at the end of the table. Mr. Weasley was still dressed in his sleep clothes, a set of undignified striped pajamas worthy of a six-year-old, paired with a short, worn tweed dressing gown. A sense of foreboding hit Blaise's stomach hard. Mr. Weasley should've been headed to work, already. Why was he still here?

And Blaise had been giving Mrs. Weasley trouble all morning. If he'd known Mr. Weasley was still here, he'd've never come downstairs. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'll be good. I swear. But Mr. Weasley didn't even know yet that he'd been rude. That was left for Mrs. Weasley to tell him.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted.

“Good morning, Blaise,” Mr. Weasley returned. To Blaise's considerable surprise, his tone was warm.

But Blaise's stomach didn't settle.

Allow me to make one thing very, very clear to you, Blaise. You are not permitted to run away like that. Ever. You are a very lucky young man that you came back on your own because I would have been very displeased to have to come find you or to have you brought back here by the aurors. And I would have found you, eventually. You are a part of this family whether you like it or not and somehow I would have found you and brought you back. Is that clear?

We will mostly talk about this tomorrow, but know that you are in very deep trouble and if it happens again, either while you are at Hogwarts or while you are home, you will very much regret it. And if you do run away again some time in the future and come to your senses, you will want to be very, very prompt about coming back before I have to come after you. I will come after you, and I will not be pleased. You. Are. our. Son, and you are to stay here where we can look after you. Am I understood?

We will mostly talk about this tomorrow, Mr. Weasley had said. It was tomorrow. And Blaise had kicked Mrs. Weasley. And...you are our son.

Mum'll yell, and she gets mad easier, but it's Dad that'll really make you regret it, if you do make him angry.

“Sit down, son,” Mr. Weasley told him softly.

Numbly, Blaise obeyed, and then waited, staring at the table, for what happened next.

When did I turn into the bogey monster? Arthur wondered. Blaise had slammed to a halt at the sight of him, before easing up and saying good morning in that so-courteous tone of his. Evidently, Molly had not warned him, and Blaise was not at all happy to see him there. Not that he particularly expected Blaise to be happy about much of anything, this morning. The boy had only barely talked himself into coming back.

“I already told him he's grounded,” Molly informed him.

And the boy was evidently absolutely terrified. How to reassure him? What to say?

“Here, honey,” Molly told Blaise, putting a leftover cross bun in front of him on a plate. “Eat.”

Blaise didn't look enthused, but at the instruction he began to slowly rip a small piece off of the cross bun, and put it in his mouth.

The tension was going to kill him, and Ron and Percy were barely moving, looking from him to Blaise and evidently not knowing what to do. Arthur could only imagine how Blaise felt. What was the boy waiting for?

“We're not angry with you, hon,” Molly told him softly.

Ah. Yes. He'd told the boy that he would scold him more today. Hence the leery look he got when Molly said they weren't angry. Was the boy that worried just about getting scolded, though? It seemed unlikely.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Blaise told him hesitantly. “I didn't mean to be trouble. I won't do it again.”

That was as good a start as any. Taking a deep breath, Arthur spoke quietly but firmly. “Good,” he said. “You worried us. It is dangerous for you out there, Blaise. Severus is distinctly unpopular right now and I suspect that you are, too. We cannot keep you safe if you do not stay with us, here.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaise told him, looking at the table.

But there was still more that needed to be said. “Molly's told you you're grounded,” Arthur continued, controlling his tone as best he could, “so I won't go over that, again, but I expect you to be on your best behavior and by that I don't mean polite and quiet, I mean actually cooperating with learning how to be a member of this family.”

He was angry, he realized. He hadn't been so worried since the fall of the He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and Molly had been terrified. It was difficult to speak of it with a calm tone, so soon after so much fear.

Gently, he reminded himself, looking at Blaise's stiff posture. He's scared, too, and you're the grownup. “Until we say otherwise, I want you to stay with Molly, or with me, or with your siblings if we allow it which probably won't be right away. And from now on I want you to try. I know you're scared and I know that will be hard but that's enough, now. No more pretending that you're a guest at a hotel, you are our son and you're going to work with us on that.”

“He did very well with me this morning, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley conciliated.

He'd done well? The hell?

Blaise stared at the woman, grateful for the help but unable not to react to the blatant lie. But Mrs. Weasley met his eyes, her expression utterly sincere. “I mean it, Blaise. You did well. I really do want you to show me what you're feeling, even when you're mad at me. I am very pleased.”

Mr. Weasley had stopped scolding him, though, for which Blaise could only be grateful. And a moment later he actually spoke up, and the words were unreal. “Well done, Blaise!” Arthur told him, his tone suddenly warm.

Arthur watched Blaise's face, amused. Reading between the lines, Blaise had had a bit of a strop with Molly when she'd gone to bring him down. Which was very good news, this morning.

“Better than just disappearing, anyway,” Ron grumbled.

Blaise visibly stiffened, and his face went absolutely blank. Which was the expression he'd had the day before, just before he'd fled.

“Ronald,” Arthur tried. They should've waited to talk to Blaise until Ron and Percy had gone outside. Too late now. Poor Blaise. Ron was the only one he even trusted, here.

“What?” Ron said. “He doesn't say a damned thing to any of us, won't even tell us what the hell we did that was so bloody wrong, and then disappears all night, and now we're all supposed to be just chuffed that he deigned to come back? Good luck!”

Ron stood up, and was prepared to leave, but Arthur called him back. “Ronald,” he said sharply.

“What?” Ron demanded.

“He is grounded to the house for the remainder of his Easter break. Would you punish him more, or will you forgive him?”

“Not exactly my decision, is it?” Ron asked angrily. “He's back and you're not even mad.”

“It is our decision how and when to punish him,” Arthur told him gravely. “You know perfectly well that we don't always treat each of you exactly the same. But it is your decision whether to help us help him. You are the one of us that he knows the best.”

“Yeah, like I can do any good,” Ron said. His tone was still distinctly grumpy, but calmer. “What am I supposed to do, go with him? He didn't even tell me he was leaving.”

Still, he'd sat back down, and he seemed at least a little mollified, so Arthur just let him stew for a bit. It only took about two minutes for Ron to speak up again.

“You really grounded him for the whole break?”

“To within reach of Molly or I, yes,” Arthur told him.

Ron's eyes widened in horror. “You mean he's got to be supervised all the time?!”

“Yes,” Molly answered.

Ron's mouth dropped open. “But – but that's not fair! You wouldn't do that to the rest of us!”

“The rest of you wouldn't need it,” Arthur told him, hiding his relief. He'd thought that would do the trick. Poor Blaise really didn't need Ron angry with him, too. “As you pointed out, he disappeared on us, and he knew when he did it that that was against the rules.”

“Yeah, but he's already going nuts with all of us in the house even when he does get to go out! And now Bill and Charlie are here and he's trying to be so bloody perfect and he's supposed to do all that without ever even getting a break?”

Arthur hid his smile. Ron was good at people, despite his temper and lack of basic tact. Blaise would not be happy that Ron had seen through him so easily, but that was helpful.

Molly smiled, and looked at Blaise to include him in the conversation. “No, he's not,” she said, mostly to their newest son. “He's supposed to lose his temper and snarl and kick me. Which he's already doing admirably.”

At that, Ron finally turned to Blaise. “You – you kicked her?!” he asked.

Blaise shot Arthur a quick look, but nodded just slightly at his brother.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said to Blaise, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips. “You're bonkers. You're even more bonkers than Harry is.”

“At least I didn't set anything on fire,” Blaise said to him in an undertone.

Arthur blinked. Set anything on fire? He'd gathered from Ronald that Harry was a bit of a troublemaker, but fire?

“No fires,” he said firmly, pointing a finger at Blaise with a smile.

“And yet kicking Mum is totally okay,” Ron retorted, good humor evidently restored. “Bloody bonkers, you are.”

Blaise watched the whole interaction, mind a whirl. So he was supposed to be kicking Mrs. Weasley, was he? He was tempted to tell Ron exactly who was bonkers, here, but he couldn't really say that in front of his parents. And...Arthur now knew that he'd kicked Mrs. Weasley, but the man hadn't reacted...yet. Instead he was...teasing. At best guess, the fire thing was teasing. Mr. Weasley couldn't seriously think that Blaise would set his house on fire?

“Ronald,” Mrs. Weasley said then. “That's enough of the language, please.”

It was mildly said, but Ronald cringed theatrically. “Sorry, Mum,” he said.

“And I believe you owe your brother an apology,” Mr. Weasley added “If you're angry with him you talk to him, not to me in front of him.”

Ron shot Blaise a look. “Sorry,” he said. It came out a little resentful, but Blaise really couldn't blame him. What were the Weasleys doing, making Ron apologize to Blaise? Not that Blaise could really see that he'd done anything to Ron, but unless he missed his guess, Mrs. Weasley had called for him almost all night, and Mr. Weasley had missed work today. And then he'd been rude to Mrs. Weasley on top of it. Which was apparently what she wanted, for some reason.

But Mr. Weasley was looking at him, now. “I take it you gave your mum some trouble this morning?” he asked mildly.

Blaise met his eyes, feeling his heart race in his chest and fighting to keep it off his face. “Yes, sir,” he said carefully.

“And what did she do about it?” Arthur asked him.

Blaise felt his face burn, and was as usual glad that it didn't show. He looked down at the table. “Nothing,” he said. “Sir.”

He could hear Mr. Weasley's smile in his voice. “I highly doubt that. Was she angry?”

“No,” Blaise admitted to the table top.

“We'd be a pretty poor couple if I was angry over something that she was pleased with, wouldn't we?” Mr. Weasley said. “Not to mention our children wouldn't be nearly so relaxed.”

Blaise just watched him, waiting for him to get to the point. Though...the Weasley kids were...relaxed, as Mr. Weasley said. They didn't act like they didn't know what the rules were...

“So what did Molly do, hmm?” Mr. Weasley asked him. “Did she yell at you?”

“No, sir,” Blaise told him. Quite the opposite. And yet a lot harder to deal with.

“Did she spank you?” Mr. Weasley asked just as mildly.

Blaise nearly flinched. His grandfather had done that, once...ages ago. Back when people had cared what Blaise did beyond staying out of the way. People other than danged Mrs. Weasley, who had... held him. “...no, sir,” Blaise admitted.

“Well?” Mr. Weasley asked him. “What did she do, then?”

Nothing for it, though Blaise's face felt like it might go up in flames. “She...held me,” Blaise told him finally, unable to hide his displeasure.

Ronald snorted inelegantly, evidently finding this hilarious and Blaise found himself shooting his friend – brother? - a glare before he remembered not to.

“What?” Ron asked him. “I told you she's your Mum now, didn't I? And you already knew she was a hugger.”

Yeah, like that made any sense. And like Ron could've gotten away with kicking his mother.

“Do I get to kick you now, too?” Ron asked Mrs. Weasley curiously, apparently having the same thought.

“Not on your life,” Mr. Weasley answered him. Then looked at Blaise. “To clarify, Blaise, you are not permitted to kick or hit or curse in this household. We will make allowances for you right now, because we're pleased that you're letting us see that you're upset, but in the long run, that will change.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaise answered him. Really? He wasn't allowed to physically assault family members? What a concept!

“However,” Mr. Weasley said, holding up a finger. Something in his tone made Blaise look up quickly to meet his eyes. “We would much prefer you do any of those things than that you run. You do not run away. Not ever. You run from us again and trust me you will think this grounding is a cakewalk. Is that understood?”

Blaise swallowed. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. He believed him, and right now he just wanted Mr. Weasley to stop speaking to him in that tone. He'd rather Snape be mad, right about now. Mum'll yell, and she gets mad easier, but it's Dad that'll really make you regret it, if you do make him angry. No kidding.

Mr. Weasley was still looking at him, and finally Mrs. Weasley spoke up. “Arthur,” she said softly. “He was scared.”

Mr. Weasley sighed, but looked away from Blaise to look at his wife. “I know, Molly,” he said, his voice softening. “But he cannot run from us like that. It's not safe.”

“He also needs to feel safe to come back if he does run,” Mrs. Weasley countered.

Mr. Weasley looked at him, and Blaise's mouth popped open of its own accord. “I will,” he promised rashly. Then cursed himself. That was quite possibly a lie, and besides that he sounded like a five year old. I'll be good! I promise!

Mr. Weasley smiled. “You had better,” he told him. “But alright. I'll stop scolding.”

What followed was one of the strangest days in Blaise's immediate memory. Ron and Percy both eventually went out, but Blaise knew better than to follow them. He stayed with Mrs. Weasley, who started some water to boil in a cauldron before handing Blaise some sort of root vegetable and a knife.

“Roughly one inch cubes, please,” she told him.

Roughly? One inch meant one inch, didn't it?

He knew his work was slow, but he made one inch cubes, and Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. “No wonder Severus is so fond of you. Child after his own heart, aren't you?”

Snape was fond of him? Though Stone had said the same thing: I've never seen Severus latch on to a first-year like he has Potter and you.

The idea that he could be in even the same category as Harry, to Snape, was patently ridiculous, and yet here Mrs. Weasley thought the man was 'fond' of him. Sure, the man was breathing down his neck lately, but...fond? Though he could definitely trust Snape to be most obnoxious to the people he most liked.

...fond. It was a...surprisingly pleasant thought, though that wasn't the only emotion making his heart rate speed up. And he hadn't a clue what to respond to Mrs. Weasley. Fortunately, she didn't seem to expect it, and simply took the cubes from him and put them to one side. Even better, she came back with a pile of potatoes and two bowls.

“Grate these for me?” she asked. “The smaller bowl is for the peels, and the bigger one for the potatoes.” She ruffled his hair as she turned away, and he managed not to flinch.

And so it went, as Mrs. Weasley apparently made some sort of stew, and he immersed himself in peeling, slicing, grating, cubing, and grinding, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around at various tasks, and petted his hair or squeezed his shoulder every time she passed. Eventually, he expected it enough to stop flinching.

After an hour or so of that, the vegetables were on the countertop, waiting to join the meat and spices in the slowly simmering cauldron. At which point Mrs. Weasley dug out a different cauldron, a whole bunch of different ingredients, and a Potions book.

“Make this one for me?” she asked him.

Blaise looked, and saw to his surprise that it was a minor plant-growth potion, and to his relief that it was a relatively basic one.

“Ask me for help if you need it, hon,” she told him.

Like hell he would, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Once again, he immersed himself, and after an unknown amount of time, Mrs. Weasley gave him a second cross-bun, which he ate absently with one hand while he stirred the cauldron with the other. Snape would've had a cow, but evidently Mrs. Weasley was more relaxed, at least about this potion. None of the ingredients were particularly toxic.

Shortly after he finished the bun, the potion was finished, and Blaise got to work funneling it into a big glass bottle that Mrs. Weasley provided him.

“Well done, Blaise!” she told him when she saw the color in the bottle. “You have a lot more patience for this stuff than I do. Mine are always a bit sloppy.”

Blaise warmed despite himself at the praise, but found he couldn't meet her eyes.

“Thank you,” he managed.

He never quite knew what to say to her, when she got all...nice. He could believe that Mrs. Weasley's potions were 'sloppy', though. Ron's were atrocious. Odd that Fred and George were the potions whizzes in the family. They didn't seem to have the kind of diligence and attention to detail that Snape was always lecturing them about. He could see them having a lot of curiosity and creativity, though, so perhaps that motivated them to be patient, too.

Mrs. Weasley laid a hand on his arm as she picked up the bottle and capped it with a spray attachment.

“You're welcome. It's quite true. Do you like potions, then?” she asked over her shoulder as she set the spray bottle on the floor beside the door. Presumably it belonged in the shed outside – the safest place to store potions if you didn't have a warded cupboard. This one was probably meant for outside use, too, so the shed would also be convenient.

Blaise shrugged a little, and Mrs. Weasley turned back to look at him. “Well?” she asked. “Do you?”

Oh. “...yeah,” he said softly. But she seemed to want to make conversation, and one word answers were not adequate. “...and defense,” he said grudgingly. “....and charms.”

“Good combination,” she commented. “Do you want to be an auror, then?”

An auror? Him? He'd never even considered it. Umm...Death Eater kid, remember?

But she hadn't accepted his non-answer before, and Blaise plucked up his courage again to answer her. “...potions master,” he muttered. Like that was going to happen. He might as well wish to be a healer.

“Oh!” she said, seeming not to notice how grumpy his reply had sounded. “That's wonderful. I think Fred and George might want to go in for potions, too, if they had the patience for it. That requires a lot more schooling than they'll probably be willing to do. Ronald said you were a good student, though. Do you like school?”

Oh, come on! Was she not going to stop? “Some,” he admitted.

And so it went. For what felt like hours. If Blaise shrugged, or otherwise didn't answer, Mrs. Weasley either just looked at him and waited, or repeated the question, with a gentle tone that told Blaise that she knew exactly how annoying she was being and exactly how little he wanted to talk to her.

Finally, Blaise just couldn't stand it anymore, and when she stared at him, he stared right back, heart racing but determined. So, she thought she wanted him to get mad at her? Fine. He was done with the 'chatting', and she couldn't make him. After a bit of a stand off, Mrs. Weasley gave him a slow smile.

“Repeat after me,” she told him. “Please, may I be excused?”

Excused? Wasn't he required to be with her? He gave her a frown.

“Just try it, hon,” she insisted. “Please, may I be excused?”

It felt dumb as heck, but it was an explicit instruction. “Please, may I be excused?” he said to the table.

“Good boy,” she told him. “And no, you may not, because you are grounded. But you may go upstairs to your room and bring down something you would like to do for the next couple of hours. I'll stop bothering you for awhile.”

Oh. Well that was alright, then. Hesitantly, Blaise got up from the table, covertly watching for Mrs. Weasley's reaction as he eased out of the room. But she just watched him expectantly, and he finally escaped, speeding up as soon as he got out from under her eye. He slowed again when he got to the stairs, taking care to skip the two creaky steps and walk quietly as he got upstairs. It wouldn't do for her to hear him stomping around or running.

Molly sighed, listening as Blaise headed up the creaky steps. He'd already memorized which ones creaked, of course. Patience. But she wanted him to relax now, not over weeks and months. The poor boy was walking on eggshells, even still. Though he had relaxed a little bit when he was cooking and brewing, she remembered. She'd have to have him do a lot of it, just to get him used to feeling safe in her presence. But as much as he'd tried to hide it, his relief at being given even the shortest break was obvious. It was definitely time for her to let him rest.

He came down again promptly, with a notebook, a stick of Ink-out, and a quill. Curious, she watched covertly as he opened the notebook and pulled out a sheet of parchment that was stuffed between the pages. To her surprise, it wasn't a letter or a homework assignment, but a drawing. A rather good one, actually, at least for an eleven-year-old.

It's a thestrel, she realized with a shock. The boy could see them. Of course he can, she realized. It really shouldn't be a surprise. It was just that the boy was so young.

Whom did he watch die? she wondered. She knew that the boy's mother had killed his father – had he witnessed it? Not that she was about to ask. In fact, that was enough watching. It wouldn't do for the boy to notice her reaction.

So...dinner. Tonight was their belated Easter dinner, since Charlie hadn't arrived until this morning and none of them had been in the mood for celebrating anyway with Blaise off in the woods. So...fancy. Or at least complicated and tasty. She and Blaise had set up everyone's favorite stew. It would cook for the rest of the afternoon. The rolls had to wait for later or they'd be stone cold by dinner. Besides, it was nearly lunchtime. She'd start the last of the tomato soup to heat up, and make some cheese sandwiches. She knew Blaise liked them.

Blaise settled down to his drawing, but his hand shook too much to add anything to it. Damned crazy woman. Couldn't she just leave him alone? And now he'd defied her, and she'd...rewarded him. Ron was right. The woman was bloody bonkers.

And he wanted to go away. He'd gotten to Ron's bedroom, grabbed his drawing stuff, and found himself sitting on the bed, longing to just stay there. But Mrs. Weasley had made her expectations very plain, and he'd finally forced himself up and back downstairs. And he wanted to cry. And it wasn't even lunchtime yet. He had another week and a half of this before he could finally go back to school.

Finally, he gave up on his drawing, and just lay his head on his arms, unable for the moment to care what Mrs. Weasley thought of it. At least she couldn't see his expression, that way. And other than a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, she mercifully let him alone.

The 'Squaffle' hit Arthur square in the face, filling his nostrils with the...bracing...smell of pickled squid, and he heard Ginny and Charlie cheer. He could hardly believe Charlie was even up, after the night he'd had: sometime after Percy had come out to say that Blaise had fled, an owl had arrived from Charlie explaining that his portkey had malfunctioned and dropped him off a hundred miles in the wrong direction. He'd arrived very early this morning and gone straight to bed for a couple hours. And yet he'd joined them for breakfast and then drawn Ginny and the twins outside to play in the yard. Charlie's energy store had very nearly landed him a job playing professional Quiddich, and here he was, playing 'Squiddich' with his siblings on probably four hours of sleep.

Then again, Arthur hadn't gotten much sleep either, and here he was – nodding off on his broom and getting hit in the face with a pickled squid. But poor Blaise really wouldn't be able to handle all of them inside the house at once, so Arthur had consented to take part in the twins' lunacy straight after his conversation with Blaise. Between him and Charlie, whom he suspected was complicit though he couldn't possibly know all of what was going on, they'd managed to pull all five of the younger kids out of the house so Molly could concentrate on Blaise. Bill was still soundly asleep, having come in just after Molly had sent Blaise to bed.

Hurling the stinking, rubbery cephalopod to Ronald, Arthur concentrated back on the game.

Oh yay. Another Weasley. Let joy be unconfined. This one was a shorter and stockier than Bill, and sweaty and dirty and...oddly sour-smelling... from whatever game the others had been playing outside.

He got up from the kitchen table to greet the bigger boy more properly, and Mrs. Weasley came to stand beside him, wrapping one arm firmly around his left shoulder.

“Charlie, this is Blaise,” she said. “Blaise, your brother Charlie.”

Blaise grimly offered his hand to shake. “Blaise Zabini,” he said.

“Hello Blaise,” Charlie answered with a smile. “Welcome.” His tone was friendly enough, but his gaze was...assessing, somehow. Not quite as warm as Bill's had been.

Well at least somebody gets it, Blaise thought. Nobody likes a snake in the henhouse. “Thank you,” Blaise said mechanically.

Mrs. Weasley's hand around him was somehow acutely annoying, at the moment, but he didn't dare shrug it off. Public displays of sod off weren't exactly a good way to endear yourself to your hostess.

What exactly did one say to a younger brother you'd just met, knowing that he'd run away just the night before? Did you mention it? Did you not mention it?

Poor kid. Mum had a grip on him, not that Charlie really blamed her. As he watched, Blaise made a small gesture to pull away from her, and she loosened her grip a little, but only to rub the spot where her hand rested. That got more of a reaction, and the boy glanced up at her. To Charlie's considerable surprise, it was almost a glare. Mum evidently caught it, and gave the evidently rather irritable kid a very warm smile. The boy's glare deepened even further, and Mum kissed his head.

What on earth? Mum wasn't usually that easy going about that kind of behavior.

“Mum,” the boy growled.

She beamed at him, and the boy abruptly looked away from her, no longer looking irritable at all. He's terrified, Charlie realized suddenly. And Mum knew it. She was also evidently absolutely smitten with him.

He'd been a bit unsure, when Mum had announced her decision to adopt some Death Eater classmate of Ron's. He knew his Mum had a big heart, but he didn't want to see it broken. All Mum had been able to say about the boy was that he was a friend of Ron's, and that he'd defended Harry Potter and lost his home over it. She'd only even personally known the kid for a week when she'd written him to say he had a new brother and to please come home for awhile if he could.

But then Percy had filled him in that morning about Blaise running the night before, and Ron had asked him – uncharacteristically sober and direct – to please, please be nice to his friend. Like Charlie was normally in the habit of bullying eleven-year-olds. Watching now, though, he could understand Ron's worry, and Mum's absolute determination. Poor kid. By 'nice', Ron had evidently actually meant 'gentle.' And as Charlie understood it, the boy had fled just minutes after meeting Bill for the first time.

So what the hell did one say?

“That one's a lost cause,” he told the boy wryly, referring to his obvious discomfort with their Mum's coddling. “Have you met her baby jackalopes yet?”

It got him eye contact, and maybe the faintest hint of a smile, but no answer.

Mum gave him a grateful smile for the humor.

“It is not my fault Mrs. Antler Bunny decided to nest in my best stock pot,” she told him.

“How did your best stock pot even end up in the yard in the first place?” Charlie asked her.

“Ask your brothers,” Mum told him. “First thing I knew, the jackalope was already stuffing it full of fluff. Fred and George were already back at school.”

“We were making a potion,” Fred told her, coming in from outside after Charlie.

“In my stock pot?!” Mum exclaimed. “That one was for cooking, Fred! For the thousandth time, stock pots are for food, not potions! We have a cauldron for that!”

“Yeah, but it's too big and heavy,” George explained, coming in with Fred.

“Besides,” Fred said. “Evidently, stock pots are for antler bunnies.”

“Yes, well you two owe me a new one,” she told them roundly. “Twelve quarts, spelled to heat evenly and quickly, and dipped in UnAlterable Elixir, if you please.”

Charlie winced. That wasn't going to be cheap. The twins' faces fell. “But Mum!” Fred protested. “It's fine! It'll still be useable-”

“Not for food it won't!” Mum retorted, raising her voice. “You know perfectly well it's not safe to cook in a pot once it's been used for potions. I'll take it out of your allowance until it's paid for and if you know what's good for you, you'll help me find a good used one.”

“It wasn't a dangerous potion!” George argued.

“Not another word, George Weasley!” Mum shouted. “You're lucky I'm not taking a hairbrush to the both of your sorry behinds! I happened to like that pot, and this isn't even the first one you've ruined, it was just the nicest.”

“But-” Fred started.

Mum released her hold on Blaise and turned to him, hands on her hips. “Yes?” she asked, eyes blazing.

“Sorry, Mum,” Fred answered quickly.

Then Mum turned to George. “Sorry, Mum,” he answered.

“And don't you even think about it, Blaise Zabini!” she snapped suddenly.

Huh? Looking around, Charlie saw Blaise at the door out of the kitchen. Somehow, he'd edged away without anyone noticing. Anyone except Mum, apparently.

Blaise froze and turned around. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

“Come here,” Mrs. Weasley told him.

Heart in his throat, Blaise obeyed. For a moment, she looked severe, but then she quite abruptly softened.

“You,” she told him with a point, “are grounded. Had you forgotten?”

Blaise opened his mouth, but hadn't a clue what to say. No, he hadn't forgotten, and he didn't think she'd believe him if he said he did. But he couldn't bring himself to admit that he remembered, either.

“I didn't think so,” Mrs. Weasley told him. “It just seemed worth the risk because I was yelling, hmm?”

Something like that? House guests did not stick around for family quarrels. But grounded... whatever-he-was's... evidently did. Or didn't, and then apparently got told off for it.

“What did I tell you?” she asked him.

And then waited. She actually expected him to answer that. Ugh, this was horrible.

“I'm supposed to... stay with you,” he managed, feeling horribly embarrassed. He'd broken the rules. Again. That wasn't usually something he did, ever, but then he'd never been so tempted to, before. Mrs. Weasley's rules were different. But then, he was having one hell of a day, and she'd not only been holding onto him, she'd been doing it in front of people so they could all stare at his undeserving, ungrateful self, and he was tired, and for goodness' sake nobody hung around while a parent was scolding their children!

“Yes,” she told him. “You're supposed to stay with me. So what were you doing, then?”

Oh, come on! “I was leaving,” he said. Duh. But he'd let his annoyance show in his voice.

“You were yelling, Mum,” someone spoke up pleadingly. To his surprise, it was Percy. Blaise hadn't even realized that he'd come in.

“Yes, I realize that,” Mrs. Weasley answered him. But her voice had softened a little further when she spoke again.

“I'm sorry I scared you, Blaise, but this is not the first time we've talked about you disappearing. You can go stand in the corner please. Everyone else, go get cleaned up. Lunch will be in twenty minutes and I don't want anyone to smell of that squid.”

Everybody else filed out. Unsure quite what to do – he'd seen Harry be subjected to this treatment, but he'd hardly ever even been punished, himself - Blaise hesitated until Mrs. Weasley gently gripped him by the shoulders and pushed him in front of her until he was standing in a corner of the kitchen between the oven and the wall. There she let him go with a squeeze, and returned to preparing lunch and setting the table.

And Blaise stared at the wall, unable to do anything else. He understood why Harry didn't like this. It felt – strange. Vulnerable, with Mrs. Weasley behind him and just the wall in front. He found himself oddly tempted to kick the wall. Mrs. Weasley would probably be delighted.

Actually, if this morning was anything to go by, she actually would be. Tentatively, Blaise tried it. It made very little sound on the hard plaster, and Blaise found himself doing it again, a bit harder. Still no response from Mrs. Weasley. But it was...satisfying... actually. He was pretty sure Snape wouldn't've put up with it, but Mrs. Weasley evidently would. And it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley gave a soft chuckle. “Alright, Blaise,” she said. “Come on out.”

Tentatively, he turned to face her, and found her regarding him warmly, her hands on her hips.

“So did you have fun beating up my nice innocent wall?” she asked him.

Blaise could feel himself blush, and looked at her face, unsure. She smiled. “No, I would not normally allow that,” she confirmed. “You're supposed to be being quiet and penitent, but then that's what you do when you're not in trouble so I suppose this was actually you being good, wasn't it?”

Umm... maybe? Thoroughly confused, with himself and with her, Blaise looked at the floor. A moment later, he found himself wrapped in her arms for the thousandth time that day.

“Good boy,” she told him. “You're learning. I'm so proud of you.”

Okay so...yes, she was definitely pleased. So that was...good. “You could reward me by not hugging me?” Blaise suggested.

As he'd hoped, she laughed... and held him tighter.

Blaise was quiet through lunch, and ate only half his sandwich, but Molly decided to let him be. The poor boy was stressed enough without her fussing about what he ate or forcing him to actively participate in their boisterous family meals. He was at least watching and listening, and he did eat at least some. She'd make sure to get him a snack later and he'd be alright.

The more she watched him, though, the more she noticed how tired he looked.

“Mum?” Ron asked when they started cleaning up. “Can Blaise come play after lunch? Please?”

Blaise shot her a truly desperate look. And not one that was pleading to be allowed, either. She gave him a smile back.

“Maybe tomorrow, dear,” she told Ron.

“But it's Easter, Mom!” Fred protested. “Charlie and Bill are both here and Dad's home and...” he trailed off as she shook her head.

“And there are far too many of you and he didn't sleep last night and he's exhausted. If he wakes up later and wants to I'll allow it but right now he's going to take a nap and get some time to himself.”

Ron argued for a bit more after that, but Mrs. Weasley was firm, and finally the whole group trooped back outside. Most of the time Mrs. Weasley's near-legilimancy was annoying, but just now he could've kissed her. Well...not really. Just the thought made him just about jump out of his skin, actually.

“...thank you,” he told her instead.

“You're welcome, honey,” she told him. “I'm serious about the nap, though. Go lie on the couch. I won't bother you for a couple of hours.”

Molly couldn't help it – she managed to stay physically out of the living room...mostly...but she peeked her head in from time to time to check on her newest son. He fell asleep almost immediately, long lashes lying peacefully over high cheekbones and soft brown cheeks. Such a beautiful child; it was inconceivable to her that nobody had wanted him. They'd made progress today, finally. She could feel it. All day she'd treasured the memory of those two words: “Sorry, Mum.” And kicking the wall...so very carefully. Her son. Hers, now. The surge of protectiveness took her by surprise, a sudden fierce determination that no one was going to hurt this boy again. Not ever. He was going to be safe, now.