Title: Serpentine Summer
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Established Harry/Blaise
Content Notes: Underage, AU summer after Order of the Phoenix, brief violence, present tense
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 3900
Summary: It's summer, and Harry is with Blaise and his mother in Florence, discovering many things—among them, duplicity and what it's like to be in love.
Author's Notes: This is one of my "From Samhain to the Solstice" fics, and also the sequel to my Harry/Blaise fic, "Vellum Voices," that I posted in July, as requested by many people. Make sure that you read "Vellum Voices" first to understand the series. This fic will have four parts.

Serpentine Summer

"This is going to be easy."

Harry keeps silent, not that that's difficult when any words he speaks would only come out in Parseltongue anyway. But he doesn't agree. He can see at least three members of the Order of the Phoenix in King's Cross Station, and that's just by turning his head.

Blaise seems to feel his tension in the set of his shoulders. He kisses Harry on the temple and murmurs, "Leave this to me and my mother."

Harry holds up the note that he wrote earlier on the train, and which Blaise didn't deign to answer at the time. How do you get to Italy? By Floo?

Blaise shakes his head, his eyes on the crowd of witches and wizards surging back and forth in front of them. "By Portkey. And there's—yes, there's Mother now." His voice descends into a surge of pride and relief.

Harry follows his gaze, and sees a tall woman in layered robes making her way through the station towards them. She has skin perhaps a shade or two darker than Blaise's, and maybe hair like his as well, but she wears a gauzy golden headscarf over it, so Harry can't see for sure. When she comes to stand in front of them, she bends down a little, and Harry can see enormous eyes considering him. He thinks maybe they're indigo, but it's hard to tell in the shadow of the train.

"Mother," Blaise says. He reaches out, and she tilts her head to kiss him on the cheek. Blaise steps back and holds out his hand as if he's inviting someone to dance. "Harry, this my mother, Hafsa Zabini. Mother, this is Harry Potter."

Harry writes Hello on his parchment and holds it out. Even though Blaise has told him more than once that his mother values Parseltongue, Harry still isn't sure how she'll react once she hears it.

Mrs. Zabini reaches out and clasps his hand. "Hello, Harry." Her English is soft and seems to have more than one accent. "Blaise has written many letters to me about you. I am delighted to get to know you, and to know that you put my gift to Blaise to good use."

Harry flushes, knowing she's referring to the poison that killed Umbridge. He looks around, but no one is standing close enough to overhear their conversation. Blaise rolls his eyes at him and nudges Harry pointedly with his elbow. He thinks Harry worries too much about that, he's told him in the past.

"I am also glad that you are coming to stay with us. Perhaps I can help you with your curse."

Harry smiles and nods. Even though part of him is grateful for the curse, because he doubts he would have got to know Blaise without it, it would be a bloody relief to speak English again.

"Now, come." Mrs. Zabini spends a moment shrinking their luggage into a tiny bundle that she tucks away somewhere in her layered robes. Then she extends one hand to Harry and one to Blaise. Harry takes her hand carefully. He can't ever remember a woman who was virtually a stranger to him wanting to touch him. Even Aunt Petunia doesn't.

"Harry? Where are you going?"

That's Ron. Mrs. Zabini turns around and looks down her nose for a moment. Ron jerks to a stop, flushing himself. "I am going to take my son and Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley for a meal. What have you to say to that—introduce me, Blaise, please."

"This is Ron Weasley, Mother."

He's one of my friends, Harry wants to say, but Blaise squeezes his hand, and Harry decides that even writing it down might not be wise right now. From the way that Mrs. Zabini is holding herself, she can deal with Ron, and whether he might be spying for the Order of the Phoenix or not. Harry just sits there and watches and waits, and Ron clears his throat.

"I just wanted to say that Harry is supposed to go back to his relatives' house. That's what Professor Dumbledore told us."

"And I say that he shall come with my son and I for a good meal before he goes back to a Muggle nightmare."

Ron hesitates, but Harry only smiles at him and, of course, says nothing; Ron hasn't learned British Sign Language like Hermione, anyway, so they could only communicate if Harry wrote something down. Ron finally scratches the back of his neck and mutters, "I don't know what Professor Dumbledore will have to say to that."

"He may say many things," Mrs. Zabini says, and sweeps them away.

They do go to Diagon Alley and up a little side-alley that Harry has never been in before. Mrs. Zabini draws a small four-sided crystal from her sleeve and turns to Harry. "I can feel them coming after us. Do your friends always follow you so persistently, Mr. Potter?"

"Some of them," Blaise says, while Harry nods. "I think they're spying on him for Dumbledore, to tell you the truth."

Mrs. Zabini closes her eyes and sighs. "Well, we will not permit them to get in our way. Take the crystal if you please, boys."

Harry reaches out and lays his hand on it. Although it's big enough for Blaise to grip it, too, he puts his hand over Harry's instead. Harry studies him in wonder. Blaise smiles and starts to say something, but then the Portkey catches them up and sweeps them away.

Harry does think he hears a voice cry out in dismay behind them, but he ignores it. He's going to spend the summer with people who want him around for once.

"Do you trust me enough to have me look into your mind?"

Harry locks his muscles before he can leap seven feet into the air. He's been in the Zabini villa for almost a week now, but it still makes him jump when Mrs. Zabini sneaks up on him. He turns around from looking out through a stone window into the gardens and finds her standing behind him.

He was right when he thought he saw the color of her eyes in the train station. They are indigo, and Mrs. Zabini knows how to dress well and in robes that complement their color. She's been teaching Harry about fashion. For the first time in his life, Harry thinks it's interesting, and they have good, if mostly one-sided, conversations over the villa's breakfast table.

But her eyes can also be too intense to meet. Harry finds his flitting aside, back to the trailing vines and shining flowers of the gardens.

"I do require an answer, please," Mrs. Zabini says, and for a moment she reminds him of McGonagall. Then she adds, "But you can wait longer if you want. I would never wish to injure the mind of a boy my son is so fond of."

Harry relaxes a little. Mrs. Zabini and Blaise also never try to hurry him, and after years of being yelled at by what felt like everybody, this is more than nice. He takes a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and writes, All right. Can we go outside while we do it?

"I was about to suggest that, actually. A table in the gardens and chocolate." Mrs. Zabini extends her arm. Harry takes it awkwardly. He thought at first that he was supposed to support her or something, but half the time, she acts like she wants to support him. It's weird.

They get out into the garden, and Mrs. Zabini indicates that Harry should sit at the little table they have there. Harry can't actually tell what it's made of, but it glows white and it's made of intricate curls, and the benches are blue and comfortable. He sits down, and Mrs. Zabini sits across from him.

"Meet my eyes, and do not be afraid."

Harry swallows and does it. If he can put up with Snape tearing his mind to pieces, then he can put up with a gentler touch.

Her hand skims the top of his at the same moment as her Legilimency skims the top of his thoughts, and he feels her anger like a hissing cat, rather than a snake. Harry blinks and tries to let down any shields he had raised. He doesn't think he has any. Snape kept ranting at him about not having any, at least.

"I am not angry at you. I am angry at that man who calls himself a professor."

Harry relaxes, and Mrs. Zabini gently travels through his mind, cool and bright. Sometimes he thinks he can catch the edge of a memory, but she always soothes it into softness again before he can hurt. She slips deeper and deeper, and then Harry hears a curse that seems to echo in his mind more than his ears.

Mrs. Zabini rises like someone surfacing from water, although it feels strange when the water is in your head. She reaches across the table and gently lays her hand over Harry's again.

"I think this is a discussion we should have Blaise here for," she says quietly. "Will you let me call him?"

Harry blinks and then nods. If he could speak in English, he would ask why she wanted to ask his permission. Blaise has been there from the beginning, and there's nothing Harry knows about the Parseltongue curse that Blaise doesn't also know.

But if he could speak English, then he wouldn't be in this predicament at all.

Mrs. Zabini draws her wand and casts a spell that makes a chiming tone ring through the garden. Harry doesn't see how that is going to alert Blaise, but he comes running out in seconds through an arched doorway that leads into a walled colonnade, his face breathless. "Harry? Mother?"

"Sit down, Blaise. I want you here for this."

Blaise sits down next to Harry, even though he has a choice of three other benches, and leans in until Harry can feel his warmth against his side. Harry breathes out slowly. He didn't realize how tense he was sitting here alone with Blaise's mother until just now.

"The Parseltongue curse is indeed bound into your mind," Mrs. Zabini begins carefully. "I had thought that perhaps the Dark Lord buried something else there, a secondary spell to anchor the curse. It would make sense for the curse to be so long-lasting then."

She looks at Harry, and her eyes are wide. Harry can see how shimmering a color they are now better than ever. "It turns out that he did not have to. You have a connection to him already, Harry. He tied the curse to that. Do you—do you already suspect what the connection is?"

"My scar?" Harry hisses. Neither Blaise nor his mother jump at the Parseltongue, but Harry feels stupid for forgetting. He reaches up and lets his fingers trace the edge of the scar.

"Not only a physical mark. I am so sorry, Harry." Mrs. Zabini draws her breath in as if she's going to float up into the air. "He made you into a Horcrux."

Blaise suddenly starts leaning on him almost hard enough to knock him over, and says loudly, "What?"

"I don't know what that is," Harry says, in stupid Parseltongue again. He looks around for parchment to write down his confusion, but Mrs. Zabini seems to guess it from the expression on his face.

"I see that education in Hogwarts does not have the edge it needs to."

"Mother! I found plenty of books that told me what I needed to know." Blaise's voice is softer now, but the death grip he has on Harry's shoulder isn't reassuring.

"You are in Slytherin and knew many such things before you went to Hogwarts, and how to look for them if you found you needed something you did not know." Mrs. Zabini shakes her head, pushes her scarf lightly back into place, and leans across the table to study Harry. "You have not had such an education in Gryffindor, have you, Harry?"

Blaise has parchment sticking out of his robe pocket. Harry grabs it and the quill that's with it, and casts the enchantment he's got good at casting wordlessly, the one that fills the quill nib with ink. Will someone please tell me what a Horcrux is? he scribbles down.

"Yes. All right. It is an object in which someone stores a piece of his soul—a Dark wizard willing to pay prices that most of us are not. It will keep him immortal, and prevent his soul from fleeing. But that does not mean it is harmless." Mrs. Zabini's eyes are huge and tired in her calm face. "I have never heard of a living being made into a Horcrux. Usually, they are objects that can be stored somewhere and kept safe. Do you have any idea of how this could have happened, Harry?"

Harry closes his eyes. His world feels like it's imploding. All he can see is a diary bleeding black across the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, and a shade of Tom Riddle screaming at him in fury, and a basilisk fang that went into his arm and almost killed him, would have killed him if not for Fawkes.

For the first time in his life, Harry feels that maybe it would have been better if he had died there in the Chamber.

"He's in shock, Mother," Blaise says anxiously from a great distance away, and Harry feels a Warming Charm cast on him. He's shivering. Why is he shivering? He's just thinking that it would have been better if he'd died in the Chamber, that he's like the diary, that he's horrible and evil and going to possess people—

He leans over to the side and vomits.

"We are going to take care of you," says someone, but the voice is so distorted by the roaring in Harry's ears that he can't tell if it's Blaise or his mother. The firm hand on his shoulder is all Blaise, though, and so is the one that holds a cup full of something to his lips. Harry swallows obediently. Why not? All this is going to end soon anyway. He'll have to find a basilisk fang or something. How can he—

The room snaps back into focus. Harry gasps, aware of the fiery tingle in his throat. He swallows and looks around blankly at the garden. The flowers seem to swim in brighter colors than they should for a moment, and then calm down. Harry is leaning against Blaise, swathed in a heavy cloak.

"You did not know. Either what a Horcrux is or that you are one."

Harry shuts his eyes and shakes his head. The revelation is still overwhelming, but he can deal with it better now. He waits until his hand won't tremble, then writes down, I destroyed a diary in second year that now I know was a Horcrux. How are we going to destroy me?

Blaise hisses as if he's the one with the Parseltongue curse, and even though his mother is trying to say something, he is the one who lifts Harry's head and stares into his eyes. "No," he whispers. "I will never allow something like that to happen. No, Harry."

I'm evil, Harry writes helplessly. He's starting to shiver again.

"Not you. Never you. And if the Horcrux has any influence on you, then I've never seen it." Blaise's hands roam up and down his back, tracing the line of Harry's backbone beneath the cloak. "Do you even understand how special you are to me? How I would fight for you?"

"And I would do anything for the boy who makes my son so happy," Mrs. Zabini adds softly. "No. We will not be destroying you, Harry. We will remove the Horcrux, and you will go back to living the life you should have."

Does Dumbledore know? is the next question Harry writes, the one that comes to him first for some reason.

Mrs. Zabini leans towards him. "I cannot answer that for certain, but I can tell you one thing."

Harry nods. Then he shivers. Blaise impatiently nudges a dark stone cup that Harry didn't notice before towards him. It has rubies along the side and smells strong enough that Harry hesitates to drink it, but Blaise only looks at him, and Harry smiles shakily and sips. He has no doubt that Blaise would just throw it down his throat like he did before if Harry refused.

The liquid relaxes him. If it's a potion, it's the best-tasting one that Harry has ever had.

"There is no way that a wizard and Legilimens as powerful as Dumbledore could have looked into your head and missed the anchor for the Parseltongue curse."

Harry closes his eyes. So if Dumbledore didn't know before, then he would have known the minute he first looked into Harry's mind after Voldemort cast the curse on him.

"We can destroy the anchor of the curse. That will involve removing the Horcrux. It's possible that I wouldn't know how to do that, since the Horcrux has rooted itself in your soul and magic, but that curse outlines the shape of it. I can separate it from you."

But what? Harry mouths. Blaise tightens his arm around his shoulders.

"It will hurt," Mrs. Zabini says. "It will take longer than I originally thought. You will need to trust me more than you do now. It will take some potions and perhaps two months. But you have that time to spend with us, don't you?"

Harry looks warily at her face, but she doesn't seem to be mocking him. And she doesn't seem to think that he's an abomination who should be killed.

He nods. At least it's a decision he's making of his own free will. And he doesn't trust Mrs. Zabini enough to remove the Horcrux or the curse yet, but he trusts her more than a lot of people.

Blaise leans more strongly against him, a silent presence. Willing to touch Harry like this, even when he knows that he's a Horcrux.

Harry turns and sighs against Blaise's neck. There's one person he trusts more than any other. Unfortunately, he's not a powerful Legilimens. But at least he's here.

"I expected you to have more of a reaction."

Harry blinks at Blaise. He's standing in the door of the bedroom he and his mum gave Harry, which is better than any other room Harry has had in his life. It's big and open and airy and has a desk and bookshelves and a table and a huge bed that Harry enjoys sleeping in. There's space for Hedwig's perch and all his schoolbooks and his robes with lots left over.

In the dreams that he lets himself entertain each night just before he drifts off to sleep, Harry dreams about living here.

To what? Harry writes down, and holds up the parchment to Blaise. It's the back of one of the multiple essay draft attempts that he has to make with Snape's holiday homework assignment.

"To learning you were a Horcrux. I mean, I understand that you wanted to fall apart for a minute there. But I didn't think even that potion would restore you as fast as it did." Blaise sits down on the bed next to him, staring at him without blinking.

What's in the potion?

"One of Mother's variants of Pepper-Up. Don't change the subject, please, Harry. You weren't as surprised as I thought you would be. Why?"

Harry stares at his hands in silence, then sighs and rallies himself. Okay, he writes. You won't like this, but it's the truth.

"That's all I want, Harry." Blaise takes his left hand.

I think I never really expected to make it to adulthood. I almost died in first year, and second year, and third year, and fourth year. I didn't almost die last year, but only because you were there. And before that I grew up with relatives who hated me and didn't care if I lived or not. So it's not really a shock to know that I might have to die to get rid of the Horcrux.

Blaise makes a fierce sound and grabs onto him, holding him until Harry has no choice but to slump sideways and rest his head on Blaise's shoulder. "I am going to make sure that never happens," Blaise whispers to him. "I know that you might be resigned to this, but I'm not. I'm not going to let you die just when I found you."

Harry leans more heavily on him, and waits until Blaise releases him to write, It sounds like I can survive it, because your mother's here and you're here.

"Would you have given up without us, Harry?"

Harry hesitates.

"Answer me, Harry."

I wouldn't have given up, Harry writes slowly. It's so hard to say the right thing, because he doesn't know if the right thing is the truth or what would make Blaise comfortable. I would have fought for my life as hard as I could. But if Dumbledore or someone told me I had to die to save the world? I wouldn't really have been surprised. He underlines the last word as hard as he can. Upset, but not surprised.

"No one's ever taught you the value of your life," Blaise whispers, his voice thick and grieved. "Everyone tells you that you're the special one, the one who survived, but no one encouraged you to do more than that. To live. You're special to me for more than you surviving the Killing Curse, Harry. I'm not going to let you go."

He kisses Harry then, something he's only done lightly since they came to Italy. This strong one makes Harry's hands flail for a second, trying to find something to rest on, before they settle on Blaise's shoulders. Harry pulls Blaise to him and kisses back. He wants to hold onto him, to keep him here, to beg Blaise never to leave him alone—

Well, I think I can count on that last one.

Then Blaise's tongue settles onto his, and Harry shudders and gives up on everything except the warmth invading his mouth. Blaise leans him back on the pillow and kisses him into gasps before he's satisfied. He pulls back enough then to give Harry a heavy glance, possessive like a hawk's talons. "You're mine. I love you."

Harry's eyes sting for a second, because he can't tell Blaise the same thing in English. He forces it back and writes on the parchment, I love you too.

Blaise smiles like he's just won the best prize in the world, and he bends over to kiss Harry again.