Disclaimer: The usual.

Some thing a bit different this time. Enjoy!

In Kind

There was a time, Blaise thought, when he had nothing in common with the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

Actually, when he reflected a little on the subject, he realised that that was not quite true.

There was a time when Blaise Zabini had nothing in common with Harry Potter- nothing, that is, except for their shared dislike of the Slytherin House and all its occupants (including its Head of House, who seemed to dislike them as much as they disliked him).

Although Potter's dislike was stronger, and surely the situation was easier for him? After all, Blaise himself was in Slytherin, so he couldn't exactly blame his feelings on simple House rivalry as everyone else did. However, this is not the point.

His perception of the similarities in disposition between himself and Potter changed one stormy Saturday afternoon in his sixth year, in the library of all places.

It was that night, just as Blaise was finishing a particularly trying essay for Professor Snape on non-verbal spells, that the littlest Weasley, Ginny, came running into the library.

At first, she just sat at the table opposite him, trying to work, her quill scratching a few lines across the parchment, crossing them out, and then starting again. It seemed to him, as if she was having problems concentrating. And then, all of a sudden, she started crying. At first, it was just a few tears, dripping onto the already messy parchment in front of hair, and then it crescendo-ed into all out sobbing.

After a few moments, he couldn't take it any more.

"What's wrong?"

Her head flew up, her hair swirling around her face; framing it- the movement caught his eye.

"Why do you care?"

"Oh, I dunno', maybe because you just started crying right in front of me?"

She ignored him, instead looking down at her lap- her fingers were curled together, pressing hard into the palm of her other hand, leaving crescent shaped indentations- and started crying again. When had she stopped, he questioned briefly.

Unable to bare it, he stood and moved to her side. "Move over, kid."

She didn't look at him, but shifted almost imperceptibly to the side, leaving a small sliver of free space on the bench for him. In one fluid movement, he sat, lifting her small body onto his lap and shifting both of them across on the seat. There wasn't much space between the bench and the table, but it would be enough.

She didn't seem to mind; in fact, she appeared to be ignoring him. Then suddenly-

"I hate him, I hate him… He doesn't know me, he doesn't even though he- he pretends… to…" Her arms came up, wrapping tightly around his upper body, and she pressed her head into his chest, dripping wet trails down his shirt.

He wasn't entirely sure what or whom she was talking about, but it didn't matter. That was the moment he fell in like- not love, not yet- with Ginny Weasley.

"And he keeps calling me Guinevere." She was still talking.

"Guinevere?" A smirk graced his lips. "Oh, I could go for that…"

After that, he spent much time reflecting on that afternoon. And much time following that meeting with the little Weasley girl; although he never did manage to determine exactly what she had been talking about the first time they met.

However, the likeness did not end there.

The second similarity- although Blaise loathed calling them that- came about from a conversation accidentally overheard in his second year, which was then forgotten and only recalled recently… when he got himself onto thinking about this absurd subject of similarities.

The conversation in question had been one shared by Potter and his two little lackeys (much like Malfoy had his lackeys, but Blaise would never mention that to either of them for fear of… reactions). It was one evening, late- past curfew even- and he was on his way back from the library (once more), having forgotten a book there from his earlier study session.

"What's up Harry? You've been acting… weird like this for ages, well, ever since that bull about the heir of Slytherin started up."

"Nothing's up Ron."

"You sure?" A girl's voice this time- Hermione; that was her name.

"Yes, 'Mione, I'm sure!" He was losing patience. Why? Blaise, as he hid in the shadows around the corner from the trio, couldn't be sure.

"Oh… okay." Hermione seemed disappointed at his lack of co-operation. She was obviously hoping he had some life-threatening problem for her to fix.

"It's just…" That was Harry again, but Blaise could almost hear his two companions lean forward in anticipation. "With this whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing going on, I can't help but think… Well, the Sorting Hat did say I would have done well in Slytherin…"

The three had started walking, towards Blaise' hiding place, and he could not stick around to hear anymore of their whispered conversation. But what he had heard was enough.

Oh, interesting, Blaise had thought as he reflected on the snippet of conversation floating unbidden in his mind. So they did share something. They were both in the wrong House. Oh, interesting. Of course, he had always known in the back of his mind that he was in the wrong House, the Sorting Hat's words at his Sorting returning to his mind- "You would do well in Gryffindor, boy."

"No, no, Slytherin… please…"- Often, especially at night. But Potter? It would seem that they had both made a choice, one that they would either regret or rejoice for the rest of their lives.

Yes, thought Blaise, they did have much in common. Both their knowledge of having been placed in the wrong House, and their love (was that what it was?) for the same girl connected them. However, he reflected as he saw the afore-mentioned redhead walk away from her ex-boyfriend, trying to hide her tears, there was one key difference.

Hiding his intentions behind an expression of indifference, he turned and ran after the little Weasley girl.

The thing was that Potter had just given that girl away. And that was one mistake Blaise would never make.

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