The first Sunday in April Blaise's mother asked him to come for breakfast. There was such a note of urgency in her letter to him that he agreed without hesitation and went.

Akila Beaumont's first move was to hug her son, her second was to hand him a letter.

"What is it?" he asked, not opening it.

"You can read it," she said. "It's from your father, Blaise."

Blaise knew this already. He and Luca Zabini had been exchanging letters regularly ever since he had come back to England, so he had recognised the firm script.

But at her invitation, he read it. The letter was brief. He had first mentioned Blaise, his visit, and his suggestion of Luca contacting Akila. Luca's style was friendly but nothing more as he went on to ask if Akila would agree to him coming to visit her in a month's time. Only in the last few lines was there any hint of anything more.

Please do not hesitate to say so if you would rather I not come. I would quite understand. Forgive me, but more than twenty-five years has not yet been enough to remove you from my memory, and I must confess I wish to see you again. I await your reply.
I am your servant,
Luca Zabini.

Blaise folded up the letter and looked up at his mother, who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, looking almost frightened.

"I haven't written him back yet," she told Blaise. "I only got it last night. I'm…not sure what to say."

"Well, do you want him to come?" Blaise asked briefly.

His mother's hands fluttered nervously. "Yes-no-I don't know, Blaise. I want to see him but… Blaise, I-I'm not the girl he fell in love with. I was-I've done things-" She broke off, looking troubled.

They had never talked about this and Blaise didn't wish to now.

"I reckon he knows you're not the girl he knew. He asked to come see you, not if you'd marry him." Blaise glanced down at the letter. "He was pretty careful about what he said, if you ask me."

"That's true," Akila Beaumont agreed. She still seemed nervous.

At that moment a house-elf came scurrying into the foyer where they were still standing. "Breakfast is ready for mistress and sir," she informed them squeakily.

"Yes, yes, Nonie," her mistress replied absently. "In a moment."

"Yes, mistress," the house-elf agreed at once, and scurried away again.

Akila Beaumont looked at her son. "Blaise, I-I don't want him to be disappointed in me."

Blaise looked at her and suddenly, in spite of himself, he felt a bit of sympathy for his mother.

"It'll be all right," he said bracingly. "Just owl him back. If it's not worth the risk, tell him no."

His mother looked alarmed at the idea. "I want to see him too much for that," she confessed after a moment. "I'm sure he'll want to see you as well, Blaise; you'll visit while he's here?"

Blaise shrugged. "If you wish it."

"I do," she said. "Now, Blaise, we had better go in for breakfast."

As she had taught him, he offered her his arm. She took it and they headed for the dining room.

Tracey also taught Blaise how to appreciate simple sweet things, such as rain. Blaise had never much liked rain, avoiding being in it whenever possible. But one spring day it rained when Blaise and Tracey were hiking-hiking was something else that Blaise would never have done on his own, but because Tracey wanted to, he went with her and enjoyed it.

They were almost back to their Disapparation point when the clouds opened and heavy drops began to fall. Blaise suggested they just Disapparate from where they were but Tracey objected.

"Blaise," she said, "Haven't you ever taken a walk in the rain?"

"Not by choice," Blaise told her.

"Well, you should try it." Tracey smiled at him. "Come on."

Blaise fell into step with her. They really were not hiking anymore, merely walking across a very large meadow. The rain fell thicker and faster, saturating Tracey's hair and both their clothing.

Tracey suddenly stopped and looked at Blaise. "Don't you like it?"

Blaise didn't really. He shrugged.

She laughed. "Come on, it's beautiful." She lifted her hands towards the clouds, still watching Blaise's face.

Blaise grinned suddenly. Without thinking why, he reached out and grabbed Tracey's waist, and then spun her around. Tracey laughed in delight. She leaned back, letting his hands be the only things that kept her from falling. Face lifted to the heavens, arms outstretched, she laughed again, sounding so pleased that Blaise found himself laughing too as he twirled her around, both of them soaking wet now.

He slowed, and then stopped. She lowered her face and her arms, looking at him, both of them sober now. Then she moved forward, slipping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest. For a moment, Blaise hesitated, and then he gathered her closer to him. It was the first time he had held her.

Blaise moved slowly in this. Perhaps it had something to do with how he had kissed Ginny Weasley in the beginning, but for whatever reason he was the very opposite of pushy. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch Tracey; after the first time he held her in his arms, he almost never again spent time with her without giving her a hug at some point, and they touched often. But still he had some reservations, felt something holding him back, and he didn't kiss her.

By this time his training had slowed down slightly. Instead of having a day off once a month, he had Sundays free, and sometimes Saturdays as well. He usually spent at least one of these days with Tracey and it was one Sunday when they were relaxing in her flat that she brought up the subject of his mother.

"I want to meet your mother, Blaise," she told him.

She had been staring into space, thinking, for the past half hour and Blaise was half asleep, lying with his head on her lap.

"What?" he asked, called back to wakefulness by her voice.

"I want to meet your mother," she repeated.

Blaise sat up. "Why?" he asked warily.

"Because she is your mother," Tracey said patiently.

Blaise frowned and said nothing. He could not have said why, exactly, but he was not sure he liked the idea of Tracey and his mother having anything to do with each other.

Tracey sighed. "Blaise, don't you think family is important?"

"I reckon. Why?"

"Because I do. I think family is really important because that's a big part of what makes you who you are." She stopped, toying with her necklace.

Blaise frowned. "Look, Tracey… My mother and I… It's not like how it is with you and your mum."

Tracey looked at him. "I know that, Blaise. My mum would kill me if I went to see her only about once a month."

Blaise's mother didn't much like it either, but she gave Blaise his space, like she always had done when he wanted it.

"But she's still your mother…" Tracey wasn't looking at him anymore.

Blaise hesitated. "Trace…"

"What?"

Again he hesitated, and then he chose to change the subject. "I'm hungry. You wanna go somewhere?"

Tracey glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's not quite four… We can just get a snack from my kitchen if you like."

"Sure."

In the kitchen Tracey made him a sandwich in silence. Blaise knew she wasn't pleased that he had turned his back on her request without really giving her an answer, but he thought he probably ought to figure out why he wanted to say no before he said it, and, if his reason wasn't good enough, he probably ought not to say it at all.

Tracey brought him a plate with his sandwich and also some crisps. She set it, along with a glass of pumpkin juice, on the table in front of him, and then went to get herself a glass of juice as well before sitting down across from him. She sipped the drink and quietly watched him eat. He wished she wouldn't. He also wished she would talk, but about something other than his mother.

Finally he broke the silence himself, because he felt like he couldn't stand it much longer. "This is really good. Thanks."

Tracey eyed him and then said, "You're welcome." She took another sip of pumpkin juice. "You know, Blaise, I liked the way you told me all about your father."

Blaise shifted in his seat and realised he had known that Tracey wouldn't let it go that easily.

"Why is it that you never talk about your mother? You don't even mention her unless I ask."

He shrugged.

Tracey took a crisp from his plate and ate it. "You know, Blaise, I like you. I like you a lot."

Blaise looked at Tracey's slightly tense face. They had been together for a little over four months now, and he knew that he was truly serious about her. He also knew she had stopped seeing Quil Rivers, whom she had been casually dating. But they had never really discussed their relationship and where it might be going; he had a feeling she had been waiting on him for that. And looking at her now, he knew she could very easily be made to regret telling him this, if he wasn't careful with his response. That he had already known she liked him a lot wasn't important.

But he also knew that she hadn't just told him so for the sake of telling him so; this was also about in her desire to meet his mother, to know his mother.

"Why is meeting my mother so important to you?" he asked her, being careful to keep voice gentle. "I am who I am, and she isn't such a big part of me. I told you we aren't like you and your mother."

"Yes, I know," Tracey responded. "But you know, Blaise, I think she's a bigger part of you than you realise. And I know so little about her. I feel as if you don't want me to know her."

"Maybe I don't," Blaise admitted.

Tracey looked slightly hurt. "Why not, Blaise? Am I not good enough to meet your mother?"

Blaise was genuinely shocked that this was the conclusion she would draw. "Of course you're good enough to meet her. You're…" He hesitated. "Maybe you're too good."

Tracey raised her eyebrows, clearly not understanding how he worked this one out.

Blaise felt frustrated now. He was beginning to realise that the reason he wanted to keep Tracey away from his mother was because he didn't want to share his mother's story with Tracey. Not because he didn't trust her, but because he both didn't want Tracey to know that about his mother-apparently Blaise was fond enough of his mother for that-and he didn't want Tracey to look at him differently because of the childhood he'd had.

"What do you mean by that?" Tracey asked finally when Blaise merely frowned rather than elaborating.

"Trace…" It was almost a groan. Blaise leaned forward, his head in his hands, realising that, Tracey being Tracey and his relationship with her and his feelings for her being what they were, he was not going to be able to keep his mother's past-and his own, from her forever. But that didn't mean the telling was going to be easy.

Tracey moved to kneel next to Blaise, concern in her blue eyes. She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Blaise?"

He didn't turn his head to look at her. "You must have heard the rumours about my mother, Trace."

He felt the hand on his shoulder tense slightly. "Yes…"

"Could you honestly believe that it's just a coincidence that my mother was widowed seven times?" He laughed bitterly.

Tracey drew a breath, but she said nothing. Blaise didn't blame her. What was she supposed to say?

"It wasn't," he assured her, his voice harsh. "And I knew it. She did some terrible things, my mother, things she could've gone to Azkaban for." He hesitated, but somehow he couldn't quite stifle the urge to defend her. "She's not a bad person," he said firmly. "She's done bad things, but it's hard to believe she'd be capable of them if you haven't seen her do them. I don't know if she would be capable of them anymore. She's a bit softer than she used to be… She used to be a little desperate. And she didn't kill all her husbands."

Tracey made a soft noise and this time he looked at her. She was staring at him, her eyes wide and troubled.

"She loves me, you know," Blaise said, frowning. "She always did. It never seemed like she cared much about anyone else though-not always herself even. She tried hard to be a good mother, but she wasn't a very good wife. And a lot of the men she married weren't very good husbands, either. But… My mother was always searching, but she never found what she was looking for in the men she married and most of them realised, after a while, that she'd come to hate them. Because she almost always did, in the end. There were a couple that were decent men, and she left them alone. One of them killed himself, actually. He was in love with her, and it drove him mad when she suddenly stopped seeing him. The other one was killed in an accident. He was the first man she'd married, and they were married for the longest-five years. I'd liked him. He was nice to me…" Blaise's voice trailed away. His eyes were focused on something Tracey could not see, did not wish to see.

She had guessed that Blaise's childhood had not been pleasant. Apart from the rumours about Blaise's mother, Blaise himself had been so withdrawn and always had a streak of something unidentifiable that spoke of something gone very wrong. She had known instinctively that Blaise shouldn't have been the way he was and she had, from the first time she met him, been intrigued that he was that way. Now, she almost wished she wasn't finding out why exactly. It was difficult to listen to.

He looked at her suddenly, frowning again. "I didn't want to tell you about her, you know. I don't want you to have a bad opinion of my mother-though I'm not sure why not. And I didn't want you to think of me differently because of-that."

Tracey stood up and put her arms around him. He leaned his head again her stomach and she stroked his cheek.

"You're still Blaise," she said quietly. "I just understand better now, why you are Blaise the way you are. Right now, that's almost all I can think about, but once I've soaked it in a bit more it'll just be another part of you. Not nearly the most important part though, because it's not because of who you are that that is what your childhood was like…" Tracey spoke musingly, more to herself than to him.

After several moments of silence, Blaise lifted his head so that he could look at Tracey. She met his gaze in the same way as ever, and he loved her for it.

"Do you still want to meet my mother?" he asked.

Tracey's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Of course," she said in a tone that implied that there should be no doubt in the matter. "She's your mother and you said she loves you. Anyone who loves can't be a truly bad person, you know, Blaise. And if she loves you I'm sure I'll like her."

Blaise stared at her. She was perfect, he thought. Right then he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this young woman. He also, perhaps because of this fact, knew that he wanted to kiss her and felt no uncertainty about the idea whatsoever. So, he stood up and did it.

So it was that a week later, Blaise and Tracey were standing at the front door of Akila Beaumont's manor home. Blaise reached out and lifted the knocker, letting it fall against the door once.

It was Tabby the house-elf who answered the knock. He bowed low at the sight of them. "Please step inside, Master Blaise. Tabby will go call his mistress."

Blaise nodded to the elf and they entered the house. They had only to wait a couple minutes before his mother came hurrying into the foyer.

"Blaise!" She gave him her usual embrace before turning, a smile on her beautiful face, to Tracey.

"This is Tracey Davis," Blaise said, even though he knew his mother must have guessed. "And this is my mother."

"I am delighted to meet you," Akila said, and looked it.

Tracey couldn't have resisted smiling back at that face even if she had wanted to. She had often heard Akila Beaumont described as one of the most beautiful women in the world, and she did not doubt the truth of this statement.

"Thank you so much for inviting me," she said.

Akila beamed at her and then said, "I think the dinner is ready. If you will follow me…"

She led them to the dining room. Akila Beaumont was not called charming for nothing. All through the meal she kept a light conversation going and Blaise could see Tracey slowly becoming less tense, until she seemed almost relaxed and was chatting animatedly with his mother. He felt a mixture of exasperation and pride, and thought that if he hadn't told Tracey anything about his mother there would certainly have been no danger of Akila betraying the story.

After they were done eating they went into a sitting room, where, for the first time, a silence fell. Akila Beaumont seemed to be waiting for something, or perhaps she had actually run out of topics for her light conversation for the moment.

"Did you hear anything from my father?" Blaise asked before she could start talking again.

"Yes, I did," his mother said. "The owl came Friday morning. He said he'll be here this next Tuesday."

"Your father's coming?" Tracey sounded faintly surprised.

Blaise looked at her. "Yeah, he's coming to see her."

Tracey looked at his mother, eyes alight. "That's lovely," she said.

Blaise shrugged a little impatiently, but Akila smiled at Tracey.

"It is," she agreed. "I have not seen him in over twenty-five years…" she observed musingly. She looked suddenly at Blaise. "It's hard to believe you are twenty-five, Blaise," she said, smiling suddenly. "I remember the day you were born so very well."

Tracey realised with amazement that the woman in front of her, since she was Blaise's mother, was almost certainly over forty years old. It seemed impossible. She could have passed for Blaise's sister, or perhaps even his wife. She had an ageless, timeless feeling about her that made her seem both young and ancient all at once, but her face was smooth and unlined, her hair dark as night. Tracey knew there was a great deal more to Akila Beaumont than met the eye, but she thought this woman, who was at least three years older than her own mother and yet looked more than ten years younger, was certainly fascinating. She couldn't blame Blaise's father for wanting to find her again, having had her once.

The rest of the evening passed in much the same manner. Around eight Blaise suggested they walk down to the nearby lake. His mother declined, saying Blaise and Tracey should go without her, so they did.

"She has a beautiful home," Tracey observed as they followed the winding path down to the water.

"Yeah well, she might as well have," Blaise said indifferently.

"Do you resent her, Blaise?"

Blaise shrugged, not looking at Tracey. "Why would I?"

"Because she was the one who made the wrong choices that caused you to have such a childhood," Tracey answered at once.

Blaise stared at her for a moment, and then he shrugged again and looked away. "Maybe a bit, sometimes… Can you believe that that woman is the same one I told you about?"

Tracey frowned a little. "I can…because I know you wouldn't lie to me. But she is certainly…"

"Not what you'd expect a murderess to be," Blaise finished for her.

Tracey frowned at him. "I wish you wouldn't say that."

"Why not?"

"It's not nice. She is your mother… And I think she regrets it; she looks very sad sometimes."

Blaise shrugged. "If you say so."

They had reached the lakeshore now. Blaise led her out to a small gazebo on the water and they sat.

"Are you glad your father's coming?" Tracey asked.

Blaise shrugged. "I reckon."

"You don't sound like you mean that very much," Tracey observed, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards slightly. "Do you not want them to get together again? Something very good came out of it last time." She smiled at him.

He smiled back because when Tracey smiled like that it was very difficult to not return it, but he sobered almost at once. "I don't know. I reckon I don't care if they do."

"Really?" Tracey was sober now too, looking at him with her clear blue eyes.

Blaise shrugged. Standing, he moved over to the edge of the gazebo, staring out across the lake. Tracey followed, coming to stand next to him. She leaned against the half-wall, facing Blaise, and waited for him to speak.

"I reckon I didn't think about this. When I went to find him. I never expected him to come after her."

"No…" Tracey agreed thoughtfully. "But looking at it from his point of view, it makes perfect sense. You do resemble your mother just a bit, you know, Blaise. And he couldn't help being reminded of her because you are her son, and his son, and he knew that. So it's only natural that he'd start thinking about her and wondering…and you know, Blaise, your mother really is a fascinating woman-not just because she's beautiful, but also because you can tell there is a great deal behind that beauty and it does make one curious."

Blaise shifted. He didn't want Tracey to think badly of his mother, but somehow he didn't much like hearing her going on like this either.

"You sort of give the same impression, you know," Tracey went on, smiling a little again. "Like there is a lot behind that handsome face if one only hangs around long enough to find it out."

He looked at her. She was studying him, a slightly pensive expression on her face, but when she saw his eyes moving over her face she looked away as if slightly embarrassed. Blaise reached out and caught her chin in his hand, lifting it slightly. Her eyes came up to meet his and he smiled at her before lowering his mouth to hers.

"Is that a good thing then?" he asked her eventually.

She laughed a little tremulously. "Yes, it is…I think."

They stood in silence, close but not touching, looking out at the lake and not thinking of it.

Tracey stirred. "Why don't we go back up to the house? We sort of abandoned your mother."

"All right," Blaise agreed easily, and they headed towards the house.

As they bade his mother goodnight, Blaise looked at the two women and thought that, beautiful though his mother might be, Tracey could hold her own even next to Akila. The two looked so different that you could not really compare them.

A/N: You people! Here's another one but I am going to wickedly announce that I'm not posting any more chapters without being reviewed. (This seems like the appropriate time to cackle insanely.) Good day to ya'll!