Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.

Um. I can only apologize. Don't hurt me? Also, I may have a new OTP. Le sigh.

Not beta'd, so please point out any errors you find. The poem quoted is by Mary Howitt.

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"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.

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The first time Blaise kissed him, Harry bolted. He'd only been back at Hogwarts for a week, and was still exhausted from a summer of hunting down horcruxes and plotting against Voldemort. He just didn't have strength left to deal with…with whatever Zabini was plotting.

And he had to be plotting something. Slytherins didn't just come out of nowhere and snog Gryffindors, not without some nefarious ulterior motive. And Harry wasn't exactly a genius, maybe, but he was pretty good at keeping himself alive.

So he bolted, and managed to avoid Zabini for two weeks before the Slytherin finally cornered him again.

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McGonagall and the Order had made Harry and his friends promise to come back for their seventh year, and in return gave him access to all their resources and let him Floo wherever he needed to go to keep on with the horcrux hunt. His grades weren't exactly stellar, but his quest was going surprisingly well.

He'd just found Ravenclaw's inkwell and had deposited it in McGonagall's office – more specifically, in the Sorting Hat – until he could figure out a way to destroy it safely. He should have felt satisfied, as he walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, but he still had so much to do, so much to accomplish, and there were days he thought he'd crack under the weight of his responsibilities.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice Zabini was there until the Slytherin yanked him into a closet and muttered a soft, "Lumos."

Zabini stared at him coolly, his wand glowing just enough for the two boys to see each other without squinting. "Potter," he said, eyes heavy-lidded.

"Zabini – what the hell…?"

"You've been running away every time you've seen me," Zabini said almost petulantly, unfazed by Harry's annoyance.

"Look," Harry said wearily, backing up until his back hit the door, "whatever you've got planned, just…don't. I'm not a complete idiot, and I know that - "

"That what?" Zabini prompted, eyebrows arched and a smirk pulling at the corners of his full lips. "Potter, I assure you, I don't want anything from you but you."

Harry stared, not at all sure how to receive Zabini's startling declaration. "What…I don't – Ginny…"

"Ah yes, your little girlfriend," Zabini sneered, arms crossed over his chest, wand dangling loosely from his fingers. "It's a funny thing, how the two of you haven't really seemed all that close recently. In fact, one might note, from observing you, that you've been avoiding not only me but her as well."

Well, yeah, he supposed he was, but that was just because – well, he had more important matters at hand. Ginny, as much as he, as much as he cared for her…she was pretty low on his list of priorities. Finding the horcruxes, figuring out a way to destroy them, figuring out a way to kill Voldemort, fending off the Ministry, keeping the Order satisfied without telling them too much, keeping Ron and Hermione from caving to the Order, attending class and doing his homework with some degree of regularity – all that ranked higher than his personal life right now, and frankly, he just didn't have the energy to deal with his sort-of-ex-girlfriend.

"I'm not gay," Harry said definitely, defiantly, rather try to explain his busy schedule. He refused to acknowledge vague, hazy memories of watching Oliver furtively during practices or of the odd, somehow intimate smiles Cedric had shared with him in fourth year. And he certainly wasn't about to admit that he'd felt Zabini's first kiss lingering on his lips hours after it'd ended.

Zabini sighed exasperatedly. "Neither am I," he said, sounding a little irritated. "I like girls. But I also like the very occasional male, and you, Potter, are quite good-looking, if somewhat lacking in intellect."

"Yeah, you're all charm. Great seduction skills, Zabini, really," Harry retorted, though he felt oddly reassured by the Slytherin's flippant remarks. If Zabini were really up to something, wouldn't he be…what was the phrase, again? Catching more flies with honey than vinegar, that was it. Wouldn't Zabini be a little more sugar-sweet and a little less acidic?

"I'm not attempting to woo you, Potter. I'm not interested in emotional attachments."

"Get that from your mum, do you?" Harry snapped. Zabini's cool façade flickered for a moment but didn't fall. "I'm not interested. Now, if you don't mind, it's nearly curfew."

He suspected Zabini did mind, but the other boy let him go without another word.

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Harry's classes, after that, were rather…odd. At least, the classes that he shared with Zabini were odd.

Whenever possible, the Slytherin snagged him as a partner. He was often insulting and always snide, but still managed to make his interest in Harry blatant nonetheless.

Well, blatant to Harry, even if no one else noticed – touches that lasted a little too long, smirks that were a little too suggestive, murmured comments that made a red flush sneak up Harry's neck and set his face aflame.

Zabini really did want him, he had no doubts of that anymore. Maybe – maybe there really wasn't an ulterior motive. As alien as it seemed, maybe someone did just want Harry for himself.

The problem was, Harry was starting to…notice…Zabini in return. The Slytherin was exceptionally handsome, all mocha skin and deep amber eyes, his hands graceful and long-fingered, his every movement a show of grace, his every smile a sin just waiting to be committed.

Zabini was definitely getting to Harry, who started to suspect he wasn't quite as straight as he'd always thought.

He tried complaining about Zabini to Hermione, but she just sniffed and told him, "Well, you are a rather attractive young man; it's hardly a surprise that some people have noticed" in an eerily dispassionate tone that spoke volumes for how little attraction she felt for him.

He didn't even consider telling Ron. He just…he just didn't want to live in a world where that conversation could take place.

So he stewed in his growing attraction to Zabini and his stubborn refusal to do anything about it, even as his admittedly paranoid assumptions about exactly what Zabini was up to died away.

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He broke on Halloween. He'd left the feast early – he didn't much feel like celebrating a holiday that managed to find a new way to screw him over every single year – and was sulking around the Room of Requirements, trying to decide whether he'd rather duel out his energy or study in a desperate attempt to boost his flagging grades. He wasn't there for long when Zabini found him.

The dark-skinned boy came up from behind him, softly enough that Harry didn't immediately hear him, loudly enough for Harry to tense up when he was a few feet away. Harry wasn't at all surprised when he turned and saw his Slytherin stalker eying him like he was a piece of candy just waiting to be unwrapped.

"Potter," Zabini greeted him almost congenially.

"Do I even have to ask what you want?" Harry asked tiredly, in a tone more resigned than annoyed.

Zabini took a half-step closer, until he was only a couple inches from Harry, who found he didn't have the strength to keep running – wasn't sure if he even really wanted to keep running.

Blaise's eyes sparked with…something…when Harry didn't move away.

"No," Zabini replied huskily. "The question now is what you want."

And just like that, Harry knew. It wasn't exactly a pleasant knowledge, and he had a feeling he was making the mistake of his life even as he acted, but he was so bloody tired of this stupid little dance they had going.

He fisted his hands in Zabini's robes and yanked him forward and down a bit, until their noses were almost touching and Harry could feel the Slytherin's breath on his lips. Zabini's eyes were wide and startled, and Harry thought he rather liked seeing actual emotion on that ever-so-blasé face.

"A suitable response," Zabini murmured, regaining control, and his gaze slid down to focus on Harry's mouth. And then he moved that extra half-inch, until his lips grazed – just barely touched – Harry's. They froze like that for a long, breathless moment, and then…

Then teeth clashed and limbs tangled and it was, god it was wet and hard and hot, and Harry's body decided it was in love while the rest of him wondered when he'd lost his sanity and why no one had noticed its absence.

And then he wasn't much thinking at all, because Zabini's hands were sliding under his shirt and touching skin.

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Harry didn't quite panic after that, but he stayed far, far away from Slytherin territory for a good week after Halloween. Avoidance hadn't really worked for him before, but he had a feeling that this time Zabini would wait until Harry came to him.

His nerves were shot to hell, and his single-minded determination to eradicate Voldemort was starting to waver. Thoughts of dark, bitter chocolate skin and rough caresses sneaked into his thoughts at odd times, no matter what he was doing – schoolwork or plotting the Dark Lord's demise, it didn't matter. Zabini was there, invading his thoughts.

And maybe that, Harry thought sourly, was the Slytherin boy's grand plot. Keep him distracted until someone up and offed him.

Which was ridiculous, because Zabini had made it very clear he was only interested in, ah, physical intimacy. The other boy had stated pretty clearly that didn't want either one of them to form an emotional attachment; there was no way Blaise – er, Zabini – could know that Harry was distracted. There was no way he could know how Harry had started to appreciate his droll sense of humor, had started to look forward to partnering with him in class.

There was no way he could know how often he invaded Harry's dreams.

In the end, after several days passed and his concentration was wearing raggedy thin, Harry found himself back outside the Room of Requirements. And he wasn't all that surprised when, a few minutes later, Zabini shoved him up against a wall and kissed him.

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Zabini was acting…strange. There were…well, he was saying things Harry had certainly never expected him to say, things that didn't have too much to do with the strictly physical. And…Zabini laughed at some of Harry's jokes these days, and his eyes went kind of soft when they kissed now.

And the kisses were, well, not as brutal, not as hard as they'd been. There was almost a sort of tenderness to them, and a thin edge of need and desperation.

Harry didn't know what to make of it.

He'd known for a while now that he had, er, feelings for Blaise. But he simply didn't know how to act now that there was evidence that his feelings weren't entirely unrequited.

And then one night, in late November, Zabini pulled him into the Room of Requirements (which was definitely, Harry had found over the past few weeks, a convenient place for a secret rendezvous) and didn't immediately start snogging him.

"Potter," Zabini said, looking rather nervous, and alarm bells sounded faintly in Harry's mind. "Ah. I'm not…I don't know quite how to, ah, say – well, I like you."

Harry blinked.

"Oh. I…er, all right."

Zabini deflated. "I understand if you don't - "

"No! I mean, I, er, I do. I…for a while now, I've, I've liked you," Harry stammered, wishing he had a bit more experience with this sort of thing. Ginny…it'd been easier with her. She'd assumed right off – and correctly – that he liked her, and not just as a friend, once he'd kissed her. Neither of them had ever even contemplated the possibility that it was only physical.

Though now he was starting to think that maybe they should have.

But Ginny wasn't here right now; Zabini was. And Zabini was…smiling? There was a flash of something in his eyes, triumph and elation followed by…almost sadness, Harry thought distractedly, and then the Slytherin boy said, "I really want to kiss you right now."

"So do it," Harry replied with an easy grin.

Zabini hesitated, though. "I…actually," he said, clearing his throat anxiously, "I really want to do more than kiss you right now."

Harry stared, startled and a little spooked, but…but he was a teenage boy and he really, really didn't want to die a virgin. Voldemort was out there, just waiting, and…well, Harry wasn't sure when he'd get another chance at this, especially with someone that he truly liked and was starting to trust.

So, though it came out a little creaky, Harry said, "All right."

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Hours passed, and things were…were new and a little painful – okay, a lot painful, but there was pleasure and closeness and the warmth of Zabini's deep amber eyes, and Harry found he didn't regret his decision in the least.

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Harry woke rather suddenly the next morning, his heart in his throat. He'd fallen asleep after he and Blaise had, er, well – and he couldn't afford to be late to another class, not if he wanted the slightest hope of getting passing grades. He shot up, eyes snapping open –

Oh.

No. No, no – this wasn't…

He wasn't in Hogwarts anymore. He was in…it looked like a cell. And he was alone.

Bewildered and terrified, Harry scrambled to his feet, flushing when he realized he was still naked, shivering as the cool air whispered against his bare skin.

This wasn't – this wasn't right. He should have woken in the Room of Requirements. Why was he – where was he…?

And then the door opened, and Harry got his answer.

His scar blazed pure fire and acid, and Harry fell to his knees with a cry, tears of pain misting his vision, hands clapped over his forehead. He heard a low, agonized moan – his own, he realized distantly.

The pain eventually receded, enough for him to blearily look up at his captor.

"Harry," Voldemort said with a lipless, malice-filled smile. "I trust you are content with your accommodations?"

"What…where – where's Blaise? Is he all right? If you hurt him – "

Voldemort laughed, high and cold, and for the first time Harry noticed someone standing behind the Dark Lord, in the doorway.

No.

"Potter," Zabini said quietly, fully dressed and perfectly groomed.

Harry could only stare, his stomach roiling with horror. He'd been…his suspicions…god, how could he have been so stupid? "What…why - "

"You were right, you know," Zabini said, his mouth pinched and his eyes hard. "I am very much like my mother. Relationships really are all the more fulfilling when they end suddenly and leave the survivor the richer for it."

He sounded – wrong, somehow. His tone was off, not gloating at all but…cold in a brittle way, frozen and close to shattering.

Staring at the boy who'd betrayed him, Harry felt something deep down inside him quietly snap.

Voldemort's eyes glowed crimson. "You really are an unusually charming boy," he murmured, almost casually. "I believe young Zabini here is rather taken with you, in truth. But his family has always understood that wealth is more useful, and more lasting, than mere affection."

Zabini stared, his jaw clenched almost painfully tight, at the wall over Harry's head.

"I thought it only right that he be a witness to your last moments," the Dark Lord added cruelly, and Zabini jerked slightly, his eyes wide and a little wild, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Harry started to back away, his breath catching in his chest, as Riddle raised his wand. "They'll still kill you," he said hoarsely, trembling but straight-backed and proud. "They don't need me to stop you."

It was true – he'd gathered the horcruxes already, all but Nagini. Hermione would eventually figure out how to destroy them all, and after that…after that even Lord Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance against both the Order and the entire Ministry.

"Perhaps," was all that Riddle said, sounding almost disinterested in the matter. "But they think they need you, and I suspect that will make all the difference in the end."

Harry couldn't help it, couldn't help but look at Blaise. The Slytherin was staring at Voldemort, and Harry had never seen Zabini look so expressive before. Awe, terror, anger…despair?

And then Zabini looked straight at Harry, his face blank but his eyes nearly black with tangled emotion, and the last thing Harry saw was Blaise break down, yank out his wand and start to turn it on Voldemort, just as the world exploded in a flash of deadly green.

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"Oh no, no," said the little fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again who sleep upon your bed!"