A quick glance around told him he wasn't in daycare, but in a simulated jungle. The walls were painted with large trees, branches extending onto the ceiling. There were monkeys actively swinging between trees and smaller animals running across the floorboards. The shining yellow eyes behind some bushes made Harry think a large cat must be stalking its prey. It would have been entertaining to watch if Blonde Bun hadn't been seated beside him.
"Oh good, you're awake! How are you feeling Harry?" She asked, leaning forward to take his hand.
Harry pulled his hand out of her grasp. Seeing her made him feel uncomfortable; he associated her with bad news. "I'm fine," he answered. "Where am I?" Before she could reply, Harry sat up in a panic, remembering what had happened. "Where's Cedric? Is he okay? I can't believe I did that. I didn't mean to I swear!"
"He's fine, Harry, it's all fine. No one blames you, dear. Lay back and calm down. You had a nasty gash on your head when they brought you in. To Saint Mungos, I mean. That's where we are now." She was trying to sound soothing, but it didn't help Harry one bit.
"Where's Cedric? Is his head okay? I want to see him!" Harry was nearly yelling now. Cedric was his best friend, his brother really. Harry would never forgive himself if he had hurt him.
"He's in another room, recovering just as you are. I'm sorry, but you can't see him right now. You see, Cedric told us everything that happened. He told us what his father has been doing the past year and a half and how it led to your injuries. You won't be living with the Diggorys anymore."
Harry had seen this coming. He had lost nearly every competition between himself and Cedric because he was a failure. Then, he injured their son. Harry could understand why they wouldn't want him anymore. He wasn't nearly good enough to be a Diggory.
Knowing he'd be taken away from them eventually, didn't stop the tears now that it was happening. He would miss them.
Blonde Bun tried to console him, telling him his new family was sure to be wonderful. "The committee is together right now, selecting the next winning bid! And that's very difficult to do because there are so many people who love you, Harry, and want to be a part of your life! Isn't that lovely? Not all children are so lucky as to have hundreds of people wanting them."
Harry didn't feel lucky at all. He didn't understand the bids or the committee but he certainly didn't think they were lovely.
"Here drink this and sleep, dear. When you wake up, your new family will be waiting to meet you." Blonde Bun handed him a small vile, and he took it obediently.
His tears died away as sleep overtook him.
Nearby voices made him stir.
"-can't just wake him up now? I really haven't got all day to sit around waiting for him to wake up on his own." The voice was sharp, female. She sounded like the kind of person who was willing to take what she wanted if it wasn't given to her. It vaguely reminded him of Grandma Eleanor, and that wasn't a pleasant thought.
Harry slowly blinked his eyes open, searching for the source of the voice. There was a tall, slender woman standing in the doorway. Her skin was dark, hair black, and she looked annoyed. Her son stood by her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than here.
The healer standing with them was exasperated. The people she put up with often had her wondering why she'd chosen this profession. Blonde Bun was beside her, reminding the taller woman that it was Harry's best interest that mattered at the moment, not her schedule.
Annoyed, the woman turned towards Harry. Even with her lips pursed, Harry thought she was the most beautiful witch he had ever seen. Her eyes lit up when she saw him awake, delighted she wouldn't have to wait any longer.
"Oh, good! We were just talking about you, Harry." Her voice was softer now, but it felt unnatural to Harry. She clearly used her demanding tone more often than this one.
The healer stepped in before the woman could continue. "How are you feeling, Harry?" She didn't seem to need an actual answer as she started waving her wand over him. "Well, everything looks fine. No pain, dear?"
"No, nothing," Harry assured.
"Wonderful! Then you're free to leave. Try not to come back too soon!" With a small wave, the healer was gone.
Blonde Bun stepped up now. "Harry, this is Viola Zabini and her son, Blaise. He's the same age as you! I know how excited you must be to go start this new chapter in your life, but I want to talk to you a moment first. Mrs. Zabibi, if you could both wait outside?" She gestured at the door. Pursing her lips again, Mrs. Zabini complied, pulling her son out behind her.
Turning back to Harry, Blonde Bun sat down, now looking grave. "Thus far the committee has failed to provide you with a proper home, Harry. First the Macmillans, then the Diggorys, and now you'll be going home to another new family. I want you to memorize this address." She produced a business card for him to look at. "If you ever have any trouble at the Zabinis, if you're uncomfortable or if they hurt you in any way, I want you to tell me. You can owl me or fire call me at this address, okay? Do you promise?"
Harry just nodded his head. He had no intention of contacting Blonde Bun, no matter what circumstance he found himself in. He'd been moved enough already.
"That's a good boy. Alright, I'll let Mrs. Zabini take you home then. Goodbye, Harry!"
xXxXxXx
The Zabini's house was the largest Harry had ever been in. It had a second floor and a basement. There were rooms that Harry deemed unnecessary like the parlor, the den, a second dining room ("We only use this room for special occasions"), and more bedrooms than their small family could possibly occupy.
His room was an emerald green. The bed was the largest he had ever seen and he climbed up to it immediately. It was soft, and Harry wanted to jump around on it, but he thought that might not make the best first impression, so he refrained. Instead he investigated the rest of his room. There were more toys than he would've ever asked for, neatly tucked away on shelves or in chests. His window overlooked the back garden which was surprisingly home to multiple colorful plants. They seemed to be thriving, even in the winter chill, and Harry had to wonder if there were charms to keep plants warm. He had his own bathroom as well, already stocked with soaps and shampoos for him.
All things considered, maybe it wouldn't be so bad with the Zabinis.
Mr. Zabini wasn't home when Harry arrived. "I prefer Mrs. Zabini for myself, but do call him Arnold, dear," Viola instructed when Harry asked about him. "God knows my last name has never sounded quite right on him. He's in Italy at the moment on business. He's gone quite a bit actually, sometimes spending a full week in other countries. We go with him occasionally, but it's lucky for us I had a business meeting this time! We might not have gotten to take you home if we'd left!"
Viola was self employed making her own line of perfumes. When she wasn't in the basement experimenting with different scents, she was out advertising and selling her fragrance to various businesses. She preferred to take the boys with her, not trusting the house elf to keep them alive while she was out.
She cared a lot about appearances. Before leaving the house she liked to fuss over the boys, ensuring their robes were neatly pressed, and their hair properly combed. She had to slather a whole jar of Sleekeazy on Harry's head to force his hair to lie back off his forehead. "We wouldn't want to hide that lovely face!"
Blaise just seemed bored out of his mind with his mother's fawning. He hadn't talked to Harry much yet, but it had only been a day, and Harry knew they would be friends in due time.
In Diagon Alley, Harry and Blaise walked on either side of Mrs. Zabini, each holding a hand. Harry realized she was quite popular as she seemed to know just about everyone they passed. With the women, phrases like "Yes, we must have lunch soon!" and "Oh do tell him I said hello" seemed to be her go-to conversation enders, and Harry used them as a signal that he should start paying attention again. With her male acquaintances, she was more hands-on. She greeted them with kisses on their cheek, or short hugs. When the conversation seemed to be dying, she'd touch their arm and compliment them to keep it going. Harry noticed Blaise roll his eyes at his mother's antics.
Harry heard his own name pop up regularly too. More often than not it was Mrs. Zabini's friends that brought him into their conversation. "Viola, is that Harry Potter? What is he doing with you?" With her more dense friends she would have to make introductions. "Oh heavens, how rude of me. Marge, this is Harry Potter! I've adopted him, isn't that wonderful? Harry this is my good friend, Marge."
He felt awkward every single time, but he tried to remember his manners and would reply with a shy, "Hello. It's nice to meet you." The women would squeal with joy, and the men tended to look rather impressed. That was usually all that was required of him, as Mrs. Zabini would steer the conversation to her own heroism in saving Harry from the abuse he'd faced thus far in life.
Harry began to understand why Blaise always looked so bored at his mother's side. He couldn't imagine putting up with all this chatter on a regular basis.
It became fairly normal for strangers to advance on them too. They would see him from a distance and approach for a chance to shake the hand of The Boy Who Lived, and thank him in person. Mrs. Zabini was always polite to these people ("You never know who it will come in handy to know, Harry"), but always excused them as soon as she could. These encounters were even worse than Mrs. Zabini's friends in Harry's mind. He just wanted to be left alone.
It was a few days later when Harry finally got to meet Arnold. "So this is Harry, is it? It's a pleasure to have you in our home, Harry! Now, why don't you boys run off and play so your mother and I can...talk." He seemed to search for the right word to describe what they were doing. Harry thought he must be rather silly to not know the word for talk.
Before Harry could put too much thought into it, Blaise was at his side, pulling him away. "Come on. You don't want to be around when they're together," Blaise said as he pulled Harry outside.
"What do you mean?" Harry questioned. This was the first time Blaise had volunteered to talk to him, and he wasn't going to let him off with just that.
"They're just gross, that's all. They're definitely not going to talk." Blaise came to a stop in the garden Harry had seen from his room. He knelt down and started pushing some of the dirt around.
Perplexed by what he meant and what he was doing, Harry joined Blaise on the ground. "How are these plants alive? It's freezing out here. They should be dead."
Blaise glanced over, unsure if Harry was making a joke or was really that stupid. He decided it must be the latter. "Magic, obviously." Blaise rolled his eyes. "I don't know the specific spells, but I will one day. And then I'll cast them over the whole yard so nothing dies in the winter!"
"That's really nice," Harry said, smiling. "What are you doing?" Blaise had continued to dig in the dirt while they talked.
"These pods like to wiggle out of the soil as they grow. Every time they do you have to dig bigger holes to plant them in until they're ready to sprout."
"Can't you just put more dirt over them so they stay covered."
Blaise looked offended by this suggestion. "When you grow out of a shirt how about we just put another on top of it. That ought to be good enough right?" His voice was laced with sarcasm. "Just go away."
Harry had no intention of leaving, so he decided to help. He copied Blaise's actions, creating larger holes for the pods and then replanting them. Blaise's mood seemed to thaw as they worked, and Harry could tell that he really cared about the plants.
"When we're done, do you want to throw a quaffle around? I'm pretty good on a broom." Harry's suggestion went unanswered for a time, and he began to think he'd ruined his chance to be friends with his new "brother".
"Sure. I'll have Knobby get the brooms and stuff. We can't go back inside for a while."
xXxXxXx
The Zabini's had bid prestige, and they delivered. Months into living with his new family, Harry had been on several outings with Viola. Each was like his first. She introduced him to countless people high up in the food chain (as she called it), and never failed in her excitement to show him off.
Harry had been to Prague, Spain, and Sweden already. Each new place held countless wonders for him to experience, and endless "someones" for him to meet. Everyone knew who he was, and Harry felt bad that he would never remember all the people he had met. They were supposed to be going to France next, and Harry hoped the names didn't sound too foreign. Those were the hardest to remember.
They dined at expensive restaurants, went shopping for only the best the market had to offer, and avoided places not held to the Zabini standard. Anything Harry wanted, he received, but Harry made a point not to ask for too much. He felt it wasn't his place.
Blaise and Harry spent most of their free time together, though not always playing. Blaise liked to read, what little he could at 5 years old anyway. He seemed to want to learn as much as he could, so he'd even look through advanced books to gain what knowledge he could from the picture.
In April, Blaise and Harry attended Pansy Parkinson's birthday party. Harry had been looking forward to this. Blaise had gone on about his friends in great detail, and Harry couldn't wait to meet them. He liked Blaise, but he missed the days of playing in larger groups at the Ministry's daycare.
Had he not gotten used to the Zabini's lifestyle, Pansy's party would've shocked him. Her house was just as big as the Zabini's, but she had several house elves that seemed to wait on her hand and foot. The entire place was decorated inside and out with dancing purple streamers, ever-falling confetti, and singing balloons. A bubble machine was constantly running, rejoicing some wonderful aspect about Pansy whenever one popped. Her pile of presents had spilled off the dinning table and taken over much of the floor space, marking that room off limits.
Harry knew many of the other guests already, either from Blaise's description, or having met them while out with Mrs. Zabini. Not wanting to embarrass his new family, Harry pulled out every last bit of propriety he knew for this gathering of the elite.
"Hello, Mr. Nott, Theo. It's a pleasure to see you again. I hope you managed to work things out with your associate." Harry had met them previously, and recalled the trouble Mr. Nott had been in at the time.
Surprised, he reached down to shake Harry's hand, somewhat reluctantly it seemed. "Hello to you too, Mr. Potter. I'm surprised you remember that conversation! Things are better now, yes. Thank you for asking. If you'll excuse me." Harry assumed he was off to find the other adults. Most people wanted to talk to him, so he was stunned at how quickly Mr. Nott had fled.
They next ran into two boys who could only be Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Blaise wasn't friends with them, but he had described them. Harry greeted them, and they only sneered and walked away. He was beginning to feel unwelcome.
"Ignore them, Harry. Come on, might as well find the birthday girl." Blaise was right, Harry thought.
Pansy was easy to find. She was wearing hot pink dress robes, and telling anyone who would listen about all the amazing presents her parents had given her. She stopped abruptly when she saw Harry nearby. She ran over and flung her arms around him. "You're Harry Potter!" She exclaimed, pulling back from him slightly. "I can't believe your scar really looks like a lightning bolt! I thought the stories were just exaggerated. Can I touch it?"
She didn't wait for him to answer before she was tracing his scar with a finger. "Um, sure. Anything for the birthday girl, right?" Harry answered awkwardly.
This was apparently what she wanted to hear because her smile grew even bigger, and she hugged him again. "Oh I knew I'd like you, Harry! But I'm not really supposed to, so I'm going to be ignoring you for the rest of the party. I'm sorry! Don't take it personally, okay? Thank you for coming!" She said it all in a rush and suddenly ran off with a wave in their direction. They could hear her squealing about a celebrity being at her birthday party!
Harry looked at Blaise and Theodore, confused. "What did she mean, 'she's not supposed to like me'?" he questioned.
"Just that. I'm not supposed to either, but I'm still supposed to hang out with- ow!" An elbow in the chest from Blaise cut Theodore off.
"Don't worry about it, Harry. It's just stupid stuff with some of the adults. Oh, there's Draco!" Unsatisfied with Blaise's explanation, Harry followed him to find out more.
Blaise was already talking to Draco before Harry could say anything. He decided to great the scrutinizing gaze of Mr. Malfoy instead. "You must be Mr. Malfoy. I've heard a lot about you, sir. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." He offered his hand, and Malfoy's eyebrow raised, surprised. He hadn't expected Harry to talk to him at all, let alone warmly.
Shaking Harry's hand he said, "The same to you Mr. Potter. Viola has told me quite a bit about you. I must say you exceed my expectations."
Harry smiled. "Thank you, sir. Is your wife here as well? I'd love to meet her."
"She's around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll run into her eventually, but the adults will be talking about rather boring things. You all should run off and have fun. Draco," Mr. Malfoy directed his attention to his son. "Come here for a moment."
The two blonds had a quick conversation, and then Mr. Malfoy walked off, sending Draco right back over. "I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Draco Malfoy, and I'd be delighted if you'd called me Draco." He offered his hand, much as Harry had just done to his father.
"Alright, Draco. I'm Harry Potter, but I prefer just Harry. Your father is really nice!" Draco smirked at Harry's opinion.
"Yes, he can be quite nice when it suits him. Shall we get something to eat? I'm starved."
xXxXxXx
In May, Arnold took a trip to Romania. On the second day of his trip, Mrs. Zabini claimed she had a business meeting that she couldn't bring the children to, and went off alone. The boys were alone with Knobby, for only an hour before she returned, more cheerful than Harry had ever seen her.
That night, an owl arrived. Mrs. Zabini read the contents slowly, and then tossed it into the fireplace. She retired to her room momentarily, and returned wearing all black. She knelt in front of the boys and took a hand from each in hers. "I'm so sorry to tell you this boys, but Arnold won't be returning from Romania. It seems that a portkey he was using malfunctioned and landed him in a Doxy nest. He tried to apparate to safety, but luck was not on his side. The area was surrounded by various magical plants that create a sort of natural anti-apparition field. He couldn't get to the antidote for Doxy venom in time."
"He's dead?" Harry clarified. Mrs. Zabini nodded her head. She said no more as she left the boys, having important matters to attend to.
Harry was horrified! How could something so crazy have happened? He looked over at Blaise, expecting the other boy to be in tears, but the boredom that his mother usually brought out in him, was there as always. Harry thought Blaise might be in shock. "Blaise? I'm so sorry about your dad." Harry wrapped the dark skinned boy in a hug. "You can cry. I won't tell anyone." Harry thought he was being comforting.
"He wasn't my dad. That was mom's third husband. I barely knew him." Blaise's tone was so matter of fact, that Harry let him go, amazed. How had he not known that Arnold wasn't Blaise's father. "I'll hardly know the next one either. Don't worry about it. I want to go back to our game." His tone was so matter-of-fact, Harry began to wonder if Mrs. Zabini's actions towards her male friends weren't quite as harmless as he had believed.
Arnold Zabini's death was in the Prophet the following morning, and after less than five months with them, Harry was swept out of the Zabini household forever.