Miss Moony would like to say that she doesn't own Harry Potter and that she had no help with this story from Miss Wormtail, Miss Padfoot or Miss Prongs.

AU and slash warnings, and dedicated to the entire crew over at the HMS Potent Serpent at SCUSA.

------- I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good -------

Can You Keep a Secret?

For Blaise's mum, things didn't go quite as planned with her second marriage. Johan Zabini wouldn't die, and after four years of marriage, she walked out, leaving her son in the care of his father, who, not knowing what else to do, left him at an orphanage a month later.

For Harry's uncle, though, the situation couldn't have been better. His freak of a nephew was finally out of the way, and it was unlikely that he'd ever be coming back. Which was a good thing, even if there wouldn't be a convenient punching bag for Dudley anywhere nearby anymore.

Mrs. Delaney worried about the two boys sometimes, Blaise Zabini with his dark, dark skin and hair and eyes and his cold gaze, and Harry Potter with his green, poisonous stare and his bloody, bitten cuticles. Because everyone knew that Harry was borderline psycho and Blaise didn't know how to care about anyone but Harry.

They made a mismatched pair when they sat together at every meal, Blaise coolly disregarding everyone in the room, and Harry bursting into bouts of hysterical, bubbling laughter at the most inappropriate times.

What no one saw, though was after dark, when everyone in the dormitory but Harry and Blaise was asleep, and Harry would crawl into Blaise's bed and curl up against his chest, the Italian boy's flesh and pyjamas stifling Harry's constant, terrified tears and giggles, and Blaise would turn to Harry and draw some kind of comfort from the smaller boy's presence by his side, and when Blaise kissed Harry; petted Harry, he sometimes felt a hole inside him begin to fill up, and for a little while, he knew what it was to be wanted.