If the Shoe Fits

If the Shoe Fits

Blaise Zabini has a nice arse. He’s got dark hair and even darker eyes, and when he smiles Harry feels something funny in the pit of his stomach.

He has a nice mouth too. It’s firm and full and just right, and Harry’s found it to be a source of enormous entertainment. Hermione frowns whenever she finds the two of them together, shaking her head and telling them to get a room, for goodness’ sake. Ron, well Ron doesn’t mind so much as long as Harry promises to disinfect himself afterwards.

It’s nice, being with Blaise. He’s easy-going and good-natured, and he isn’t weak or petty. He understands when Harry gets all pissy and wants to be left alone, and he always offers a backrub when Harry wanders into the Slytherin common room, dazed and lonely and confused.

Harry likes laying back in the damp grass with Blaise, watching the midnight sky and talking about the NEWTs, or the size of Aidan Lynch’s package, or the Ron-Hermione-Pansy predicament. They agree that yeah, Ron won’t stay in the dark for much longer, he’d better nab Padma while his dignity’s still intact and she’s still hanging out for him.

They skirt away from topics like love, or the war, or Harry’s reluctance to eat anything. Blaise is always willing to distract Harry from such matters, and the house elves forever despair at the grass stains accumulated.

People comment on how wonderful the two of them go together. Like two peas in a pod, they say, and Harry wonders if maybe they’re a little too similar. It’s wonderful how you promote inter-House relations, they say, especially in these troubling times. Harry wonders if they think Blaise is a coward for not following the others, whether it was sheer vanity that prevented him from willingly disfiguring himself, whether his alliance to Harry is simply a last resort.

Harry refuses to think of all those who gave themselves over to the other side. He tries to maintain the relations between the Houses, because he feels they must unite in order to fight for the cause Harry believes in so much. He tries to think objectively, not subjectively, and knows he fails when all he can think about is a twisted scar on translucent skin.

One day Blaise kisses Harry in the Quidditch changing rooms, in celebration of Harry’s win over Ravenclaw. The Snitch still flutters weakly in Harry’s tightly-clenched hand as he kisses Blaise back, glancing past him into the steam-covered mirrors. His reflection is distorted and all he can see are his eyes, large behind his glasses and sunken in his too-thin face. They’re the same poisonous shade as the robes Blaise is wearing, and in his mind he hears the hiss of a serpent and a cold sneering laugh…

No. nonononono

Harry pushes Blaise off him, stares at him wild-eyed and gripping his arm too tight, and he whirls out the door, heedless of Blaise’s calls behind him.

Out in the weak sunshine Harry breathes and his stuttering heart is zen. He opens his hand where the Snitch struggles for freedom, releasing it. It’s battered and scratched from long use, and he watches it slowly take flight with fragile torn wings and a dully golden glint. As Blaise comes over and rests a hand on his shoulder, Harry leans against him and closes his eyes at the sight of the Snitch faltering in the breeze.

It’s so nice of Blaise to forgive him for the relapse. It strengthens their relationship, he thinks, it proves to everyone their willingness to make it work.

It’s nice to finally find someone he can be comfortable with, someone to belong with. He’s better than all the others – Seamus had been too pale, Zacharias too sarcastic, Terry too intelligent. Blaise is dependable and undemanding, and won’t leave him for something he doesn’t believe in. It isn’t love, Harry thinks, but it’s good enough.

And when his eyes stray to the empty seat at the Slytherin tables, it’s nice to know that he’ll always find Blaise nearby, willing to hold him close and help him forget.

fin