Was it not enough that the Dark Lord was a master of magic? Now he had to be immortal multiple times over.

The return to the Slytherin common room was a blur, his feet moving without any real input from his mind. He couldn't even recall if he'd bid goodbye to Hermione and Ron, so lost in his thoughts and rage at Dumbledore. All that could go through Blaise's mind was the incomprehensible burden on Harry's shoulders. It took far longer than it should have for Blaise to realise he'd circled past the entrance to the common room. All that could go through his mind was the sheer enormity of Harry's task. How he had never betrayed any of the pressure in the time they were together, Blaise would never know.

He eventually made his way inside. Tracey and Daphne were waiting on a divan alone. The rest of their House had long ago retired to their dorms in preparation for the early Monday start. At the sight of him, Daphne smiled. Without a word to him, she dropped her book and attempted to nudge the half-asleep, slumped over Tracey into alertness.

"Not now, Daph," Tracey murmured. "There's a… pegasus in the garden. I want to say hello."

Daphne rolled her eyes before reaching for her wand. Tracey yelped as Daphne cast a Stinging Hex on the back of her palm.

"Hey! That burnt!"

Daphne scoffed, though her smile didn't leave her face. "Blaise is back. Besides, it's character-building."

"I have tons of character already," Tracey hissed, rubbing at her hand. "Maybe you should hex yourself for once."

Tracey eyed Daphne's idle twirling of her wand with a healthy level of paranoia.

The sight of such a return to normalcy was almost enough to shock Blaise out of the overwhelming sense of doom he was feeling, but then his thoughts latched back onto Harry and Dumbledore, and he resisted the urge to grind his teeth once more.

Tracey's eyes latched onto him, visibly brightening as if Daphne had never cursed her.

"Mischief managed," she murmured to the parchment clutched to her chest.

She rose to her feet and embraced him. Blaise returned it to the best of his ability, but it was bittersweet knowing the conversation that was to come.

"Looked like you could use a hug," Tracey said in response to the question in his eyes.

"That bad?" Daphne asked in a low voice.

Blaise said nothing as he followed Tracey back to the divan to take a seat.

He'd never had reason to doubt Daphne and Tracey, but with the knowledge of the Dark Lord's immortality occupying his mind, he was finally forced to. Would Daphne not surrender the information at the first hint of threat towards Astoria? As brazen and devil-may-care as Tracey could be, she was really a soft person at heart. Would she not yield at the first hint of torture? Despite his time at Hogwarts turning him into a master of lies by omission, it was a bitter feeling for Blaise to realise he was going to have to omit such important information. As Hermione had said, it was Harry's secret to share.

He opted to compromise by peering down at Daphne's watch. Only being half-past ten, it wasn't late enough to truly excuse himself with being tired, but he just couldn't stomach any potential deceit.

"It's late. Let's discuss this tomorrow."

"It must be really bad for you to be so straightforward," Tracey murmured.

Daphne's eyes bored into his.

"Will we be in danger for knowing?"

Blaise nodded sombrely.

"It's the type of knowledge that results in bloodlines being ended."

Tracey's smile became rather fixed. "You can give us the safe version tomorrow, yes?"

"I promise."

She rose to her feet and gave Blaise the map, bidding him goodnight with a yawn before disappearing down the stairs towards the dorms.

"You weren't joking, were you?" Daphne asked.

"I wish I was. This is deep shit, Daphne," Blaise said. "Eyes out the back of your head at all times deep."

Daphne nodded, for once unfazed by his language. "Well, like Tracey, I expect the safe version tomorrow."

She walked up to him.

"Don't ever forget we're here for you. See you tomorrow."

She didn't embrace him as Tracey did, but she squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him, following in Tracey's footsteps.

"Be careful," he said to her retreating back.

Blaise made his way past the divan. Remembering the price of Harry's lack of caution, Blaise Disillusioned himself as he approached the male section of the dorm. Turning down the narrow subterranean corridor leading to the sixth-year boy's dorm, he paused against the door, bracing himself. He murmured the password to the Marauder's Map and scanned his dorm, finding the usual sight of Crabbe and Goyle in bed. Looking more broadly, Draco and Snape were in the latter's office. Harry loomed alone in Dumbledore's office, pacing back and forth without any discernible rhythm.

Before he deactivated the map and folded it back up, he noticed something odd in the seventh-year boy's dorm. Antoine and Sebastian were asleep in the far-right corner beds, whilst the rest of their year-mates were congregated around Urquhart's bed. They were obviously speaking, but what of? More than enough time would have passed for the more well-connected to hear of what had occurred at the Ministry. Blaise was taking no chances.

With a careful murmur towards his chest, his senses sharpened, and he moved towards the seventh-year male quarters. He leaned against the door, focusing on the faint murmurs of conversation from within. Even with the aid of the Supersensory Charm, he could only make out disconnected fragments.

Stepping away from the door, Blaise took in the corridors of the Slytherin dorm. They were narrow but high with vaulted ceilings tinged with the murky green of the Great Lake above. Just to his left was a tall cupboard containing communal cleaning supplies. Blaise had made the mistake of trying to use a similar cupboard in his first year before being chastised for behaving like a house elf.

He had an idea. It was a stupid one, but it was the only one he could think of. As much as Hermione may have hated the Half-Blood Prince, Blaise appreciated a good spell inventor when he saw one.

"Levicorpus," he whispered.

Soundlessly, he ascended to the ceiling by the ankle. Righting himself into an almost recline with a harsh flex of his core, he silently cast the Levitation Charm. He could only hover in the position, not having the mastery of the Charm to combine it with Arresto Momentum to achieve true flight, but it would be enough for his plan. He released the Charm and landed on his feet with preternatural ease. The harsh impact of his shoes against the stones was deafening in the otherwise silence.

As he'd expected, the sound of his feet striking the ground outside the room hushed the whispers of conversation. He opened and shut the broom cupboard with two careless flicks of his wand, aiming to be as loud as possible, and took himself once more to the air.

"Who's there?"

Urquhart's pinched face emerged from the open door, pushing it open and stalking towards the cupboard with his wand out. As Blaise released the Charm, he cushioned his shoes this time, landing soundlessly behind Urquhart before slipping into the dorm room.

Bassingthwaite, Thorne, and Hallett waited for their friend, irritated. As they did so, Blaise made his way towards Antoine. He was indeed asleep, but incredibly deeply. There was nothing to give away any sign of discomfort, even as Urquhart stalked back inside, slamming the door shut loudly. Not a flutter of an eyelid, a shuffle, or a vocalisation. Antoine slept like the dead.

Bewitched sleep.

A close examination of Sebastian revealed the same. They were at least unharmed.

"Well?" Thorne asked.

"Nothing," Urquhart said with a scowl. "Probably Peeves."

"Homenum revelio," Bassingthwaite muttered.

Blaise stopped breathing, praying that his Disillusionment Charm wouldn't give him away. It was a long moment as Bassingthwaite's eyes searched near Antoine's bed, where Blaise stood frozen, before shaking his head.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Bassingthwaite confirmed.

"As I was saying, what about Greengrass?" Hallett said.

"Do you want to be the next Montague?" Thorne asked with a shudder.

"One would think you're more afraid of her than the Dark Lord," Urquhart said.

Thorne shook his head. "She threatened to castrate Montague, you know? After those blood traitors shoved him in the Cabinet and he escaped, he was more than a little loopy. He mistook her for his girlfriend."

"He tried to grope her. Very aggressively, mind you," Urquhart said. "That nasty Severing Charm she used on his thigh? It was well-deserved."

Blaise was reluctantly impressed to know that even Urquhart had standards. Daphne had nearly been expelled for that violent reprimand. Umbridge had rather snidely told her she should be flattered to have received the attentions of a Pureblood wizard and received them with appropriate grace.

"That snooty bitch just cut him?" Bassingthwaite asked, a disbelieving sneer on his face. "Castration. That must have been an empty threat. It'd be easy to deal with her."

Hallett and Thorne laughed at Bassingthwaite, uncaring of the dangerous clench of his jaw.

"Every rumour you've heard about her is true," Hallett said, deadly serious. "She's a complete nutter."

"And a blood traitor," Bassingthwaite added. "It'd be easy."

Not wanting to tempt himself with the idea of cursing Bassingthwaite, Blaise kept his arms tightly folded at his chest. He'd never previously given Bassingthwaite much thought. He was a pureblood Australian of Welsh descent who'd transferred to Hogwarts late in Blaise's fifth year. Gifted in Defence and Transfiguration, that much Blaise had known, but the clear bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes at the idea of harming Daphne was alarming.

"Trust me, she and Davis are not worth it," Urquhart said. "Don't get any ideas about her little sister either. Leave Greengrass for the Death Eaters."

"Zabini is the key," Thorne said.

Bassingthwaite remained silent as Hallett sounded his assent. Urquhart looked rather conflicted.

"I think going after him is a bad idea as well," Urquhart murmured.

"What?" Hallett asked.

"You remember Thorfinn Rowle?"

At Bassingthwaite's clueless expression, Urquhart elaborated, "Gunther Rowle's son. Rowle apparently committed suicide whilst engaged to Zabini's mother. Left her everything."

"And?"

"When Thorfinn heard that Zabini was a first year in our House, he decided he was going to get vengeance, you know? He started off by telling Draco and Theo to not associate with Zabini. Vincent and Gregory do what Draco says, so Thorfinn had him isolated."

"Easy pickings," Thorne said.

"Exactly. Then Thorfinn started cursing him and his belongings every opportunity he got. Some really nasty spells."

Blaise shuddered in memory. The lead up to Halloween in his first year had been his worst weeks at Hogwarts. He'd had nightmares about the sensation of molten coals against his feet until third year. His skill at counterspells had been hard-won.

"Davis must have saw Thorfinn cursing him because she told Zabini who told Snape. I heard this from my dad, so keep what I'm about to say hush-hush," Urquhart said quietly. "Thorfinn received two tarot cards with the morning owl not long after. The Hanged Man and The Tower."

"How cryptic," Bassingthwaite said snidely.

Urquhart laughed. "I wasn't finished. They were bound together with a cursed Hangman's Knot. Burst into flames when he touched it and gave him some nasty cursed burns. Spent a week in the Hospital Wing regrowing the skin on his hands, chest, and face. He was pretty spooked after that. Left Zabini alone from then on."

"Why'd he touch it?" Hallett asked. "Did they ever track who sent it?"

"Of course not. Apparently, he claimed it had a Compulsion Charm. Me, personally? I think he was just being thick."

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. Blaise's mind was racing, knowing his mother's handiwork better than anyone else. Urquhart had gotten one thing wrong. When he'd decided to go to Hogwarts, his mother had forced him to study the background of all his teachers. It was only his uncle's intervention that had prevented her from extending it to the students. He'd never told Snape, not trusting a spy Death Eater to discipline one in the making.

He stared at the ring on his thumb, a last gift from his mother on that day at Diagon Alley before he'd left for Hogwarts. It'd been as much conciliation as it was finery.

"I understand you no longer want to speak to me, bambino, but as the only male of the family, please wear this in honour of the many lost to us."

He hadn't thawed in the slightest on the day, simply choosing to wear it in honour of the many dead Zabini men and women, but now it meant everything.

Even now, with six years of magical education under his belt, it remained one of the most heavily enchanted pieces of jewellery he'd ever inspected. A few Blaise had added himself, simple ones like self-cleaning and polishing. The most complex was an enchantment that made it the key to the obfuscation hex on the envelopes he sent his letters in, but the rest were his mother. He'd never asked about their purpose, but now he had an inkling.

To know that even from Italy after he'd rejected her so badly, and well before he'd sent a letter to her detailing his misery and all but grovelling, she'd prepared for the eventuality of his suffering and intervened.

"You know the official cause of death was suicide," Thorne murmured after he'd returned to their conversation.

"Load of shite," Hallett said venomously. "We all know his whore of a mother did it. Pureblood British wizard in the prime of his life hanging himself like an addled Muggle? Pull the other one."

"So, Zabini then?" Bassingthwaite asked, leaning out of his seat in anticipation. "It's not Greengrass, but I can work with that."

Urquhart still looked uneasy. "I think it's a mistake."

"We need to be careful," Hallett said.

"What's he good for beyond prancing around? With the way he has Potter wrapped around his finger, he's just a male version of his mother," Bassingthwaite said.

Whilst Urquhart was still hesitant, perhaps holding some lingering camaraderie from being Quidditch teammates or fear of his mother, Hallett and Thorne were practically salivating at the idea.

"We can't get caught," Hallett said.

"We're not the first to consider this, you know?" Urquhart said. "I tried to get a feel of how Theo felt about him, and he mentioned to me that he's near the top of every class now. He's not helpless, and he's friends with Greengrass, maybe not as close as Davis, but friends still. Never mind Potter."

Bassingthwaite dismissed Urquhart with a low laugh.

"That useless faggot and that bitch will be so easy," Bassingthwaite said. "I was told Slytherin was meant to be filled with proper wizards who corrected their inferiors."

"It is," Urquhart said. "Fine, we'll go for Zabini."

"Theo?" Hallett asked.

"He wants nothing to do with this."

Theo's roving eyes had long given him away, so Blaise wasn't particularly surprised. In another life where Theo wasn't under the heel of his bastard of a father or in Slytherin, Blaise could see them being good friends. Merely having an instinctual disdain for Malfoy put you high in Blaise's estimations these days.

"Zabini and Davis," Bassingthwaite said.

"Just Zabini," Urquhart said harshly.

Bassingthwaite agreed with a nod, though the sneer on his face made his feelings known. "Trust me. We won't be caught."

Unseen, Blaise just smiled. Exposure to the Horcrux had awoken feelings he'd smothered long ago out of fear of his time at Hogwarts making him like his mother, but now…

What use were stoicism and apathy when they'd just afforded him disrespect? Even with several floors between them, the seventh years could barely stand to talk about Daphne. Despite the threat of his mother looming above them, they clearly didn't even take him seriously.

Whatever Bassingthwaite had in mind for him, Blaise couldn't wait to show him the error of his ways. For years, he'd bowed under the pressure, deluding himself into believing that nonchalance and a caustic tongue made him superior. But no longer. He would make an irrefutable statement.

His mother ensured problems remained solved, unlike Dumbledore. Permanently, if need be. Why shouldn't he follow her example?

Blaise stood there for what felt like hours, listening intently to every half-baked plan they had for ambushing him, destroying his property, and ruining his reputation. It was all rather droll to hear people planning his downfall.

Stifling a yawn into his fist for the umpteenth time, Blaise couldn't help but also find it very boring. There were only so many ways Blaise could hear how he would be cursed or dosed with some potion without getting fed up. The only interesting thing he'd heard was that Urquhart had a two-way mirror with Marcus Flint who'd recently been marked. Sometime during his mind-numbing vigil, he checked the map to find Harry had been rejoined by Dumbledore in his office.

Eventually, they ran out of nonsensical plots and retired to bed. Of immediate concern to Blaise was that they'd agreed on waking up early to ambush him in the corridor. Blaise waited until they'd all drawn their curtains before he gave Antoine and Sebastian a final once-over, promising vengeance on their behalf, and began moving towards the door.

Like the sensation of a second heart the Horcrux had given him, the anger in his chest was like a passenger in his body that could not be denied. It was foolish to yield to its siren's call, but Blaise would make this the first of Bassingthwaite's many lessons. It would be a lesson without a teacher, but what use was honour when they intended to curse him four-on-one? All that mattered was establishing the new state of affairs in Slytherin, at Hogwarts.

He would not be messed with.

Eyeing the canopy of Bassingthwaite's bed, Blaise nodded to himself.

"Saxum Sisyphi," he mumbled.

As the canopy frame began to slowly sag and bow inwards towards the bed's unknowing occupant, Blaise made his exit. He wasn't even past the cleaning cupboard when he brought his wand down in a brutish fashion. The resounding crash of the bed compacting with the force of violent acceleration was thunderous in the silence, evoking the suit of armour during that fateful night he'd fallen off the Grand Staircase. When Blaise heard a strangled scream, he ended the spell immediately. It wasn't satisfaction that drove him to smile, but the burgeoning sense of control returning to him. Direction. The Dark Lord was far and distant, for now. He could certainly work through his frustrations with these fools.

Yells and loud footsteps faded into the distance before falling silent as Blaise finally entered the sixth-year dorm. His sensitive eardrums vibrated in a steady complement to Crabbe's every grumbling snore. Theo was hidden away by his curtains. Malfoy's corner looked as if it'd been stripped bare, with no belongings remaining in sight. He, like Snape, would likely soon be making a getaway. An impulsive part of Blaise considered ambushing him before rationality reasserted itself, knowing he'd be accompanied by Snape.

He got into bed, not bothering to change or get undressed.

No matter what he did, he just couldn't rest his busy mind. Any time he managed to doze, he'd wake within minutes, heart racing, and hyper-vigilant to every sound in the dorm. His gaze fell once more to the map after retrieving it from under a pillow and found Bassingthwaite still in the Hospital Wing. The other seventh year boys were in bed. Snape appeared to be leaving the Grand Staircase on the second floor, moving at a rapid clip towards the headmaster's office where Dumbledore was now alone. A final report before leaving?

Blaise didn't think too deeply about it as his eyes immediately latched on Malfoy alone in Snape's office. The password, false panacea, in spidery ink was a potent temptation. As Bassingthwaite had said, it would be so easy to exact his revenge. He'd sworn to himself that if he ever had the opportunity, he would snap Malfoy's wand and more. His gaze found Snape again. Already rising to his feet to go to his office and settle things, heart racing with anticipation, he was forced to halt when he caught sight of Harry. He was standing in the clock tower on the 3rd floor, perhaps feeling as unmoored and furious as Blaise felt. Very likely more.

Malfoy immediately fled his mind. Without much thought, Blaise packed his things, emptying his wardrobes and cupboards into his suitcase with liberal Shrinking Charms. With a final Shrinking Charm, his suitcase slipped into his pocket, his viola was slung on his back, and he made for the door. He left the dorm he'd spent the last six years in without much feeling. Anywhere else would be better than here.

He knew where he belonged.

He found Harry standing on the balcony of the clock tower, gazing into the dark night silently. With the oath between them, there was no sneaking up on Harry. Blaise didn't bother to announce himself and simply embraced him from behind after melting back into view with a final wave of his wand. Harry's hands laced with Blaise's own at his waist, and they stood there in the quiet night for a long time.

"What a day," Harry muttered.

"What a day."

Blaise conjured them an armchair and sat down, bringing Harry with him in his lap. Now able to see his face, Blaise was arrested by the redness of his eyes.

He'd been crying.

"What has Dumbledore done now?"

Harry mumbled something into Blaise's collar.

"What?"

"He's dying," Harry said, still avoiding eye contact. "Only got a few weeks left."

He swallowed down the foul language that mention of Dumbledore now provoked and sighed. As much as he hated the wizard, he meant a lot to Harry and was a potent symbol. It seemed things could only get worse.

"Let me take you to bed."

Blaise allowed Harry to bury his face in his shoulder as they walked towards Gryffindor Tower. If his skin felt increasingly wet as time passed, Blaise said nothing and only held Harry tighter.

As they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry attempted to push away from him upon noticing her perplexed gaze at the two of them. Blaise held fast.

"You've been strong for so long, Harry," Blaise pleaded. "Let me take care of you."

"Is he… alright?" The Fat Lady asked, frowning deeply.

"He will be."

"Fortes Fortuna adiuvat," Harry intoned dispassionately.

The portrait swung open. Any further input from the Fat Lady was interrupted by Harry rushing out of Blaise's arms and into the Common Room. Blaise followed silently as Harry stalked towards a staircase before taking the stairs in big lunges.

Blaise followed the pull of Harry's magic towards a four-poster with the curtains drawn shut. After silently stripping down to his briefs, placing his belongings under the bed, and mentally preparing himself for Harry's inevitable explosion, he entered Harry's refuge after putting up every privacy ward he knew. Within the two months he'd gotten to know Harry, he'd never seen him quite so defeated, so on edge.

"You don't have to stay," Harry grit out, rubbing his red eyes vigorously.

"I absolutely have to."

Blaise slipped underneath the covers. The respectable distance he made between them seemed an insurmountable gulf, but it did make the sight of Harry glaring at him easier to handle.

"I care about you a lot, Harry," Blaise murmured. "I'm not going anywhere, even if things are difficult."

The hardness in Harry's eyes faded ever so slightly.

"If you're going to stay, you can tell me about your mother," Harry all but demanded.

Blaise didn't take the bait. "You're not going to make me argue with you, Harry."

"It wasn't a negotiation."

The instinctual revulsion at personal questions about his mother didn't rear its head for once. After all, of anyone who had ever enquired about his mother, there were none more deserving than Harry. Who else had witnessed his mother murder another in front of them? Hermione had tried in her typical clunky fashion to ask about her husbands, but Blaise had been very firm with her that it wasn't a topic he was open to exploring with her.

If that was all it took to temper Harry's anger, he would tell him about her.

"How about I tell you about my mother's side of the family first?"

As Harry mulled it over, Blaise took off the ever-present golden band on his right thumb, offering it to Harry. Even with the silver bracelet on his wrist, phoenix feather finely threaded through the links, his hand suddenly felt very naked now knowing the ring's significance.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

Harry frowned, toying over the ring in his hands and tapped a finger against the seal. "Well, it's a ring. Is that an anchor and leaves in a shield?"

"Leaves of an olive tree," Blaise said, smiling to himself. "It's a signet ring. Extravagant one considering it's for the thumb."

Harry just stared at him like he was speaking rapid-fire Italian.

"My mother's family can trace their ancestry back to the late 8th century. Probably further back, but that's as far as reliable records go. Merchants from Tyre, modern-day Lebanon, who eventually settled in Calabria and later Sicily."

"Merchants? Muggles?"

"Yes, all Muggles until the 1500s. Olives and sulphur mostly," Blaise explained. The dumbstruck expression on Harry's face was a welcome departure from his previous moroseness. "Good enough at it to eventually marry into Muggle nobility – hence the signet ring, though I only use it as an enchanted decoder these days. You would place the seal on a document as a sign of authenticity after dipping it in ink. It's customary for the oldest male of the family to wear it."

There was a solemn question on Harry's face.

Blaise nodded. "I'm the only male Zabini. It's just me and my mother now."

Grindelwald wasn't kind to Italy. The Wizarding conclaves in the south who'd attempted to resist his overtures had been near annihilated. His mother's study was almost as much of a shrine to his would-be relatives as it was a workspace.

"I'm sorry."

Blaise took the apology for what it was. "Don't worry about it, but you want to know about my mother, yes?"

Harry nodded and handed him back the signet ring, which he quickly returned to its rightful position.

"I'll tell you more in exchange for some cuddling."

There was a glimmer of humour in Harry's eyes as he sidled up beside Blaise. He outright climbed on top of him, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face against Blaise's cheek. The rhythm of his now deep, slow breathing against him encouraged Blaise to wrap his arms around his back.

"Granted. Satisfied?"

Blaise leaned in to softly kiss his cheek in thanks. "Very much so."

"Vittoria Marcella Zabini. The British refer to her as the Black Widow, which is very uninspired in my opinion, but this is from the country that gave the world Hogwarts," Blaise said. "They could only go up from there."

Blaise luxuriated in the feeling of Harry chuckling against him.

"In the south of Italy, she is merely Signora Zabini or Contessa Zabini, if you're feeling particularly servile. In the north, well… their opinion isn't too far off that of the Brits. Bacio di belladonna – it's a bit of a wordplay. Belladonna's kiss or beautiful woman's kiss. The popular joke is that you never know which one you'll get from her."

"Not sure the north of Italy has it much better than us," Harry said.

"If you want to get in my mother's good books, you can say as much. She'll be very pleased to hear that," Blaise said with a laugh. "She despises the Italian press."

"Is there a massive distinction between the south and the north?"

It was the equivalent of asking a British wizard what Gryffindor was. If Binns wasn't completely obsessed with goblin rebellions and the Statute, Hogwarts students would have a far greater understanding of the world than what occurred on their tiny island.

"Massive. To put it simply, when Grindelwald came preaching his revolution to Italy, the north fell in line. Southern Italy didn't and suffered for it."

"So your mother must have been speaking of Grindelwald earlier. How old is she?"

Blaise cursed Harry in his mind for being so sharp.

"No idea. I'd guess late seventies."

"What?!"

"She's a witch, and we've always been long-lived. One of my relatives, died before I was born, lived to almost two hundred."

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable. Blaise could feel Harry's discerning mind working towards an inevitable, predictable conclusion.

"Dumbledore doesn't think she's human."

Blaise exhaled harshly. Memories of his Housemates and Umbridge saying as much in derisive terms reared their ugly head. "And?"

"It doesn't matter to me, but I thought you might want to know. Back to Italy. Is the Ministry just as shit as the one here?"

Squeezing Harry's hand in thanks for the topic change, Blaise continued.

"There's never been a Dark Lord from Italy, so it's automatically better, but there's a lot of overt infighting. Italy was the last in Europe to form a Ministry, so there is still a great deal of factionalism. Lombards, funded by Austrians, feuding with Tuscans, funded by the French, feuding with Campanians, funded by Sicilians. It's a mess of scandals, so the evening Araldo Alato is almost always entertaining."

"Sounds dysfunctional," Harry muttered.

"Yet no Dark Lords," Blaise said pointedly. "I'll take another ten embezzlement scandals over that."

"I'm sure I heard of a Dark Lord Blaise, waging a war against the poorly groomed. I'm sure Dean was their first victim."

Glad to hear some of Harry's sass, Blaise scoffed dramatically. "Whoever they are, they've done a bad job letting you walk around with that rat's nest."

"Maybe they're crazy enough to be into it."

"Maybe they are but let me continue. There are Italian Wizarding families in Sicily and Campania that are Zabini in all but name, such as the Martinelli and Giansanti families. They're not massive, no Wizarding family in southern Italy is nowadays, but you'll meet Isabela Martinelli and Aurelio Giansanti when you come to Italy."

"Best and brightest?"

"Exactly, there's also some other Italian wizards who work with my mother. Greek and Arab wizards too. There are no Hogwarts or Beauxbatons in the Mediterranean, so anyone who wishes to learn about Charms, Enchanting or the Magical Classics, apprentices under my mother. Like Dumbledore, once you're within her sphere of influence, you never really leave."

"And what does she do with all that influence?"

Blaise shrugged. "Beyond collecting dead husbands, I have no idea. Never asked."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

It always will, but Blaise had never had the courage to ask. Until recently, he'd thought it better to be in self-denial than to confront the reality of everything his mother was and could be.

"The reason I even came to Hogwarts was because I walked in on my paternal grandfather accusing my mother of killing my father when I was eight after the first husband died. She obviously denied it, but I couldn't bear to live with her now that I had that uncertainty. My father was my world whilst she politicked and attended to her responsibilities."

Even with Harry's face buried in his neck, Blaise could feel the weight of his question.

"Now, I don't think she did it. Some of her other husbands? I wouldn't be surprised. Vile people."

It'd been his uncle who'd managed to convince him otherwise, but even having briefly entertained his mother killing his father had permanently damaged his perception of her.

They said nothing more, both silent as Ron and Neville continued to snore.

"I don't think I'll be able to go to sleep," Harry said.

Blaise remained silent until he felt Harry began to caress his crotch, forcing him to grunt. With the events of the day, it would take a Herculean effort to get him in the mood.

"What are you doing?"

Determination was etched on Harry's face.

"I want to feel something other than dread. I'm sure you do too."

Not giving time for Blaise to say more, Harry lifted his legs up and dragged his briefs off. In any other scenario, Blaise would be quite excited to see Harry being so aggressive, but with his current mood, it only reminded him of his Firewhiskey dick incident with Daphne months ago.

Harry grasped his flaccid dick, running his fingertips along the shaft and down towards his balls. For once, such teasing did nothing for him.

"I'm not in the mood, Harry," Blaise said.

He wished he was. Anything that could erase the heaviness on Harry's brow or at least let him forget he would do.

"I'll get you in the mood."

Harry stripped down, revealing his healthy tan and slim physique. The sight of his semi-hard cock finally began to stir something below for Blaise, but it wasn't full-blown arousal.

"Maybe tonight will be the night I finally let you."

Blaise frowned. "Finally let me what?"

"Fuck me."

A soft moan escaped him at the idea. Harry was well aware of how much he'd like to be inside him. Even as Blaise forced himself to be content with just grinding and oral, not wanting to risk moving too fast, he'd betrayed himself with heavy stares at his arse. It was with no surprise and more than a little triumph in his intent eyes that Harry began to stroke his hardening flesh.

"You can't tease me like that," Blaise ground out. "Not now of all times."

"Who said I was teasing?"

Blaise watched as Harry knelt before him, visibly preparing to employ every skill in his arsenal towards a fantastic blowjob. Instead, Blaise kicked off his briefs, tangled around his ankles, and pushed his head away.

"You said you wanted to be fucked, no?"

Harry blushed. His eyes followed the heavy sway of Blaise's erection between his legs as he withdrew, intimidated and desperate all at once. A strangled sound escaped his throat as Blaise gave himself a long, leisurely stroke.

"You're afraid now, but I'll make it feel good for you," Blaise promised in a soft tone. "Get on your hands and knees for me."

There was no hesitation as Harry assumed the position.

"Arch your back for me," Blaise murmured. Harry moved to comply. "Deeper."

Once satisfied, Blaise knelt before Harry and spread his cheeks. Blaise peered at the tight hole ahead of him, knowing it was going to require a lot of preparation to comfortably take him. It didn't look as if Harry had ever considered fingering himself, so Blaise grabbed his wand. One careful wave cleansed Harry's passage, causing him to grunt in surprise at the likely icy sensation. Another conjured a jar which he filled with lube.

After pausing to allow Harry to get used to the feel of his hot breath against his winking pucker, Blaise finally pressed a gentle kiss to his entrance. A violent squirm escaped Harry when Blaise followed it with a wet smooch against his entrance.

"That feels – " Blaise laved his entrance with his tongue – "oh… do that again."

Harry's ensuing moan rose in pitch before ending in a gasp as Blaise's tongue dug into him. Enamoured with Harry's every twitch and soft moan, Blaise proceeded to diligently work to open him up with his lips and tongue. By the time he stopped, his jaw was aching, but the pretty, pink hole was slick with his saliva and had a subtle gape. His painfully swollen erection, forgotten between his legs, felt like molten steel as he imagined how Harry would feel around him.

His index finger quickly took the place of his tongue, circling the tiny, pink hole before gently sliding in to the first knuckle. One became two, and two quickly became three steadily pumping in and out. Harry took it like a champ, moaning wantonly every time Blaise crooked his fingers downwards, grazing against his prostate. Blaise couldn't pretend to be unaffected, every gasp of pleasure from Harry seemed to provoke a sympathetic throb from his cock that leaked another strand of pre onto the increasingly sodden patch between his knees.

"Stop, I'm ready," Harry breathed. "If you keep going, I'm going to come."

After removing his fingers, Harry's arse remained splayed open, inviting. Blaise placed the head of his erection at the widened entrance, gently grinding against it. With every drag, Harry's arse would almost suckle the angry plum head of his cock inside him. It would only take a small amount of force to lodge himself inside, and Blaise was almost desperate with the desire to do so, but Harry's involuntary tensing stopped him in his tracks.

"Relax," Blaise murmured. His hand ran soothing circles along the plane of Harry's back. "If it hurts too much, let me know and I'll stop."

Harry's entrance slowly flowered around Blaise before yielding, and he slid inside. Moaning softly, Blaise stilled his hips as Harry pushed back against him, desperate for more of Blaise's dick. With Harry unrelenting in his avarice, Blaise decided to meet the greedy retreat of his hips with his own inward thrust. Their slow progress towards meeting at the groin was interrupted by Harry beginning to hiss as he approached the halfway mark. With every vocalisation, Blaise could feel the resistance grow and Harry reflexively tighten.

"You don't have to force it," Blaise said.

Stubborn as always, Harry continued, managing to take another inch before finally cursing under his breath in defeat. Blaise withdrew from the tight heat. Even if he was the tightest and hottest thing he'd ever felt, it couldn't distract him from the clear signs of pain.

Without a word, Harry rolled over, took the lube, and began to slather Blaise's cock in another coat of it, rendering the dark skin even shinier and slicker with the watery gel.

"Lie against the headboard," Harry ordered him.

After doing so, Harry straddled his thighs this time, looking down on him with unabashed lust. "I want this. You want this."

He'd never been so hard. "You have no idea."

Blaise relaxed against the headboard after lifting his knees up. With a sinfully wet sound and a grunt from them both, Harry began his slow descent down his girth once more. All the while, Blaise whispered sweet nothings in his ear, played with his nipples, and slowly stroked him to maintain his hardness. It wouldn't make the pain below any more erotic, but it would at least keep him in the mood.

Now more patient, or perhaps helped by the slick slide allowed by the copious lube, Harry steadily descended past his previous limit. Blaise watched, almost transfixed, as he disappeared into his tightness, leaving his groin pressed against his pert cheeks. The frantic squeeze around the root of him was maddening, and his hips trembled, dying to move, but he wouldn't ruin this with greed. He could wait.

"Oh fuck," Blaise moaned.

How had he waited so long to experience this? The tight squeeze of Harry finally around him was all-encompassing, everything he'd fantasised about and more.

After a long silence punctuated by their heavy breathing, the vice-like grip around him began to ease.

"How are you feeling?"

"Full. It kind of burns and aches, honestly," Harry ground out.

Blaise ground and rolled his hips upwards and forwards a little, searching, until Harry let out a sudden gasp. Having found his prostate, Blaise continued rolling his hips in slow, long circles. Every time he got the angle just right, Harry would jolt, involuntarily tightening around him.

Harry whimpered. "It feels even better with your cock hitting that spot."

"It'll get even better, I promise," Blaise murmured in his ear. He hoped the seduction in his voice would be enough for Harry to forget any lingering pain he may be causing him, especially in conjunction with his gentle nibbling at his ear lobe. "You feel so good around me."

Harry fell into Blaise, seeking his mouth. They kissed, moaning into each other's mouths, as Blaise continued the slow roll of his hips, both seeking to pleasure Harry and get him used to the feeling of him deep inside. Once assured of no signs of pain, Blaise rolled them over so that he was on top. Harry looked up at him, lips moist from their long kiss, smiling.

Blaise stroked Harry's erection in time with every slow, easy drive into him. Harry met him with sinuous winds of his hips, almost as enchanting as the thorough ensorcellment his beautiful gaze achieved. The heady emotion within them was paralyzing. Terrifying, but mutual. His only escape was to kiss him once more before he truly became ensnared for good.

When he felt uncontrolled spasming around him, Harry's loud cry quickly followed. As the splatter of Harry's powerful orgasm spurted onto their chests, he finally allowed himself to be selfish. Every impact of his hips against Harry created a loud slap as he thrust roughly into the convulsing squeeze of his arse. With every slap of his balls against Harry's arse, a strangled groan escaped Harry, half-discomfort, half-delirious pleasure. He was likely growing overstimulated, but his legs encircled his waist, squeezing tight and beckoning him to remain deep with every harsh stroke. In no time at all, he followed Harry with a strangled shout into the pillow by his head.

It was as if he was offering all he was as he came inside Harry. Every jerk of his cock was in lockstep with a seizing of his muscles. Harry's hands stroked his sweaty back with every harsh exhale, soothing and unsettling him with every gentle touch. By the time he came to his senses, he could feel the combined cum and lube leaking around where they were joined in a trickle down his balls. With a soft moan from them both, Blaise pulled out before vanishing the mess with his wand.

Soon, the only sound and movement were their chests heaving against each other as they caught their breaths, and as his erection slowly faded against Harry's thigh, he could only think of the many things he wanted to say. The many sights, feelings and sounds he was now also trying to immortalise in his memory, but he knew that to fixate on the past and the present would be folly. This was a beginning, and it would be a mere suggestion of what they would come to share together. Still, he didn't yet dare to look into Harry's eyes, fearful of what he'd find there. It'd destroy whatever calm he was desperately maintaining if he found even a semblance of his own feelings right now. He contented himself by closing his eyes and giving Harry a deep kiss.

As Blaise buried his head back in his pillow, he convinced himself that everything would be fine. The desperate certainty of that belief would have to be a balm for his doubts, yet Blaise found that the need to believe blindly had never been easier.

"We're going to be fine, Harry," he said, heedless of the tender rawness of his voice.

Harry nodded. "Of course. You still need to beat me in a duel and maybe…" He shuffled a little against him, hissing at the ache of his arse. "Definitely do that again in the future. Several times even."

Though it was tempting, Blaise didn't let himself fall into the familiar trap of exchanging snipes or flirting. Instead, he brought Harry's hand to his chest, over his heart. Blaise stared into Harry's eyes, daring to be brave, even as he felt his heart race with nerves. The familiar camaraderie and the unrealised promise of something more met him. He was sinking, falling, and it was painfully real, so he held nothing back.

"You're my heart, Harry. Never forget that."

And Blaise also meant it in the literal sense. Without Harry, he'd be indifference given flesh. Shallow and spineless beyond understanding. His life had been one of pathetic self-deceit; he'd never say it aloud, but he was grateful beyond words to Tracey and Daphne for having routinely put up with him over the years.

"You mean a lot to me as well. Thank you… for being here."

The warm press of Harry's calloused hand at his chest retreated, but it was followed by Harry giving him a strong hug. He relaxed into it, burying his head in Harry's neck. The feeling of Harry's fingers slowly running along his scalp between his braids was soothing. It almost rendered him boneless. He could stay here with him forever.

"You're so cynical, Blaise," Harry said.

With the lightness in his voice, Blaise could picture in his mind's eye his cheeky smile, drawing him in as it always had from the beginning. He hid a smile of his own in Harry's collarbone.

"You've always had a heart. It's just now you're using it."

"Maybe."

Harry sat upright and separated them. Blaise could only follow the determination in Harry's eyes spellbound as he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a fierce nod. "With you here, I'm going to be fine. We're going to be fine."

The conviction in his voice was such that Blaise could hardly entertain his doubts, and he found himself returning the nod, equally fierce.