AU: Blaise Zabini was the Black King, just as his mother had been the Black Widow; behind his back they called him Black Death. But he may have finally met his match. Warnings for slash. Blaise/Harry.

NOTE: NO VOLDEMORT, SLTHERIN!HARRY, BLAISE/HARRY, WARNINGS FOR SLASH

For my 200th reviewer of 'World Enough and Time', Dreamers0rule0the0earth, who requested a Slytherin!Harry and this fantabulous pairing (o: Hope you enjoy!

Rating: M

Chapter Two

If Blaise had attracted attention before, it was nothing compared to the amount they were getting now. People of all ages and sexes stopped to stare at them, devouring every exposed inch with ravenous eyes. It wasn't everyday two utterly gorgeous men strolled down Diagon Alley together dressed to the nines.

"You haven't been in England in-"

"Five years; yes I know, I wasn't here," Potter replied dryly.

"A lot of things have happened since you left," he said.

"Happened, yes, but changed, no," Potter said. There was nothing Blaise could say to contradict that. So instead he asked, "Why now, then? Why did you come back?"

Potter shrugged. "Figured five years was long enough. There are things here that I still have to take care of. There are a myriad of reasons, actually."

"Alright." Blaise didn't pry anymore. It wasn't his business. "Where to for lunch?"

"I was thinking something light," Potter said, barely batting a lash at the change of subject. Blaise abruptly realised this was the longest- the only, in fact, conversation he'd had with the other man. He might not have participated in the short-lived attempts at riling the Halfblood when he was younger, but that hardly meant that he'd acknowledged him. Quite the opposite, rather. "I know a place in Brighton that does good seafood-"

"That sounds fine."

Without nary another word, Harry slid his arm around Blaise's waist and Disapparated them mid-step. The transition was so smooth that he didn't even realise they'd changed locations till he put his foot down.

"What-"

"Welcome to the Brighton Marina," Potter said, winking at him cheekily as if he didn't know what Blaise was asking. He still hadn't removed that arm around his waist. "Here, the Fisherman's Cove."

Blaise allowed himself to be escorted into the establishment. Despite its name, it wasn't the ramshackle hovel he'd thought it be. The furniture was very sleek, clean, and minimalistic. The maître d' smiled upon seeing them. "Welcome back, My Lord. The regular table for you and your guest?"

Potter cut the woman a small smile. "That would be nice, Cassandra." Despite the pleasantry, there was no request in his tone.

She led them over to a square table on a porch, with a perfect view of the Brighton coast. "The usual, please, Cassandra," Potter said lightly, not even glancing at the menus.

"Yes, My Lord," she said, bobbing her head. "I'll be back to take your orders." She slipped off soundlessly, leaving the two men to their vices.

He raised his eyebrows. "You've been getting around, Potter, and no one's ever seen you."

"I like my privacy," he said loftily. "I pay them well to keep their silence."

"So you claimed the Lordship, then? There hasn't been a Potter Lord-"

"In almost thirty years; yes, I know, Zabini. Why do you insist on quoting these inane numbers to me?"

Blaise abruptly realised that he had been thrown off track by Potter since they'd first met at Twilfitt and Tatting's, and it irked him to not know why. "I don't know," he said rather crossly. "I don't know you anything about you at all."

"Ah," Potter said, nodding sagely. Cassandra, the maître d', returned with a bottle of sherry, and set two glasses down for them. "What would you like, Zabini? The poached haddock is particularly good-"

"I'll have that then." Neither of them had even opened their menus. Potter nodded, smiling faintly. "Splendid. The usual for me, please."

Cassandra set the bottle on the far end of the table, within easy reach. "Of course, My Lord."

Once she'd left, Potter turned back to him. "I apologise that you feel so out of depth, but that honestly wasn't my intention."

"What was your intention, then?" Blaise leant back, steepling his hands across his stomach. Something about Potter intrigued him…

"To get you into bed, of course," Potter said rather blithely. The moment after he said that Blaise wondered why his ancestor hadn't killed the arrogant bastard yet.

"I beg your pardon?"

Potter's smile was soft but sure. "You heard me correctly, Zabini."

"I'm afraid our tastes run in different directions, Potter," Blaise said stiffly.

Potter nodded, giving him that. "Well, perhaps. I'm confident that can change, however."

"I am not."

Potter rolled his eyes and took a sip of the sherry. "Merlin's balls, Zabini, we're just talking about sex here. Oh god, I knew there was a reason why I kept coming here."

Blaise ignored his first statement and picked up his glass to sniff the rim. "The sherry is that good?" He took a small mouthful. "…mm."

Potter smirked. "I do have good taste," he reasoned.

"In liquor, maybe. There is no fine line between liquor and sex. They aren't even in the same spectrum."

"I beg to differ. Fine wines are remarkably similar to sex. The best ones always age well." There was devious glint in his eye as he raised his glass in a silent toast. In spite of himself Blaise couldn't help but feel flattered.

"Fine wines go down well with fine sex. Will you not let me try?"

"A taste?" he said derisively.

"Oh, no," Potter murmured. "I've already had a taste; the first taste was running into you in Smithers' shop." Twilfitt and Tatting's, Blaise had to remind himself. He had to wonder just how much Potter overpaid the man; he was notoriously difficult to charm and practically impervious to bribes. Although not as impervious as he'd once thought; the man had, after all, bent over backwards for Potter. He could think of so many of their old housemates who would weep at this impossible turn of events.

"And?"

There was smile growing on the other's face and a warm look in his eye that made his belly curl. "A nice, heady aroma. A full bouquet."

Blaise inclined his chin. "Can you guarantee that you won't get drunk?" He didn't know why he was even bothering to engage in this verbal foreplay, but ironically enough, this man before him was intoxicating.

"Of course not," Potter demurred. His eyes flickered up to meet his. "The risk of getting drunk is half the fun."

Blaise's throat seized up when he opened his mouth to protest. He was suddenly painfully aware of his heritage. There was a reason why Zabinis never did casual flings- the count would be through the roof if they did. Potter appeared relatively upfront concerning his intentions, but Blaise didn't need a bloody Boy-Who-Lived among the bodies piling up at his door!

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Potter."

"Oh, but I do think I do," the man purred, and Blaise froze. It was as if the man's voice had hooks that sank beneath his skin. "Even on the continent your name- but more your face- not to mention your fortune- is unparalleled. The Black King, they call you, to show you respect, but do you know what they call you when you turn your back on them?"

Potter's eyes never once blinked, green like endless summer fields swaying in the breeze. He could almost smell the scent of fresh-cut grass.

"The Black Death, the Plague. You bring death into a ritual meant to celebrate the renewal of life."

Nothing in Blaise's face showed Potter's words affected him save the slight tightening of his jaw. "And what of it?"

Potter smiled. It was a smile Blaise had yet to see on Potter's face, on anyone's face, directed straight at him. It was free, open, and full of good cheer. The light in his eyes was unfeigned, and Potter appeared to be taking genuine pleasure in his presence.

"Nothing," he said. "It means nothing at all." His hands swept open before him in an absent gesture of his acceptance.

Blaise was astonished. He'd never heard his reputation spoken of in terms as baldly as this before. He would say Potter was insane, insane for wanting to still try, despite all that he'd just said, but Blaise couldn't help but wonder if he were truly crazy for someone to want him, just him.

He wondered if it were the Fates once again intervening, for the person who seemed most drawn to him could not give him the child he longed for.

Their meals came, and they spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries about the fish. The haddock was truly delectable. Potter cut him a portion of cod without his even asking and settled it on his side dish.

"Try it." Blaise had the odd feeling Potter was referring to more than his main course.

The piece of white flesh touched his tongue in an explosion of juice and flavour. He couldn't help himself; a muffled groan slipped from his lips and his eyes fluttered close. When they opened again, Potter was looking at him, grinning slightly.

"Good, isn't it?"

"Good doesn't even begin to describe it." He cocked an eyebrow. "Is this why you had me order the haddock? So you could have the best for yourself?"

Potter's laugh was full-bellied and rambunctious. "Merlin, no! I always have a white fish; their salmon is rather splendid too, but it doesn't go down quite well with this sherry." He tapped the bottle neck lightly with his knife edge, and the crystal rang out clear and proud. "I actually rotate among the various fish. And sometimes I tell them to surprise me." He eyed Blaise's plate with undisguised hunger. "So how is the haddock today?"

Blaise wanted to blame it on the wine, but he knew it had nothing to do with what he did next. He reached out for Potter's collar and pulled him across the table.

He couldn't help the mental smirk when Potter let out a little breathy moan at the taste. When he shoved the other back, the man let himself slide down the chair's back, absently licking his lips to savour what remaining flavour still lingered.

"It truly is excellent."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Only a madman would find fault with it."

Blaise couldn't help but laugh. "Only a madman would pursue the Black King."

Potter smiled. "Oh no, it isn't the Black King I want. Everyone knows the Black King; everyone wants a piece of him, the perfect, beautiful, chess piece, forever surrounded, forever guarded. The one I want is Black Death."

There was no trace of humour left on Blaise's face. He stared straight at Potter, trying to read a person he had known of for seven years and had never really known at all.

"Turnabout is fair play," Potter said softly.

If Blaise were in any less control of his emotions, his eyebrows would have hit his hairline. He couldn't believe that Potter was even proposing, let alone promising open disclosure. For a man shrouded in mystery, his secrets were everything. And he was willing to share them, relinquish this power. With him. Just him.

"I know you're asking yourself why. What are you getting out of this. Bloody Slytherin."

The insult was done in good humour, so Blaise let it pass. Besides, Potter was obviously just as Slytherin as he was, more so, in fact, if he was half the things Blaise suspected he was.

"But you can't think like that. You can't think of my self, my secrets, as worth anymore than yours. If you can commit yourself to this, Blaise, the same rules apply to me." He once again spread his hands openly on the table. Potter seemed to be fond of that gesture. It was less practiced and more natural, a thoughtless exclamation by his body.

They finished their meals in relative silence.

The maïtre d' never intruded save for twice more: once to clear their plates and take their orders for dessert; and then to bring their desserts to them. Potter had his 'usual', which was chocolate fudge concoction, and suggested Blaise order the strawberry cheesecake, only it turned out to be more cream cake than cheese, and Blaise couldn't find it in himself to complain. The plates were sparkling clean by the time they were done with them.

Blaise didn't ask about the check. Potter didn't mention a word.

He rose to his feet, Potter following him a second later. Once they were out of the restaurant, he took Potter's elbow as they continued to amble down the Marina.

"My manor is under wards that only allow guests to be brought in personally by members of the Zabini family." He didn't mention how at any given time there would only be a maximum of two such members.

He halted abruptly. Once Potter was still, he Apparated them both.

I haven't a clue about Brighton, honestly, but I'm making up this wizarding village of a subset of the Muggle town. And for all of you who knew that was what Blaise would do when Harry asked for a taste, I hate you (o; Please review! Cheers.

Also, I do have to warn you about my possible hiatus of the next two weeks. I'm going to be off doing silly young-person things, and I'll have very sporadic internet access. I'll certainly try to keep to our established schedule, of course, but if that isn't possible I sincerely apologise in advance.