Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Harry didn’t like complex puzzles that never seemed to have answers, only more questions.

Hermione loved them, thrived on the challenge, always sought answers to explain the unexplainable.

Ron had a knack for logic that even he didn’t seem to realize. He didn’t care about looking for answers, but he could evaluate things and predict actions when he wanted, much in the same way he managed to best everyone who tried to beat him at chess.

Harry, however, liked facts. He hated gray. Things were black and white. There were right answers and wrong answers. He didn’t dwell on the shades in between because it was far too confusing and he could never make sense of those things without Hermione’s guidance. And this was not something he could take to Hermione for her to analyze, research, and make a determination that made him feel comfortable.

He didn’t even like Blaise Zabini. Not only was he a Slytherin, but Zabini was rude, condescending, odd, and beautiful. No, not beautiful. Men weren’t beautiful. Only, Zabini was. It was yet another reason Harry just didn’t like him. He shouldn’t have noticed his beauty. He’d heard girls giggling about Zabini, talking about his dark skin and pale eyes, his high cheekbones and full lips. Harry didn’t fancy blokes, not like that, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from looking at Zabini during the next meal and he’d had to admit that the girls had been right.

That had been months ago and he was still no closer to figuring who Zabini was than he had been that first night. There was very little Harry did know for certain. He was a Slytherin, wasn’t part of Malfoy’s little bunch yet still seemed to have the respect and admiration of his House, did well enough in his classes that Hermione had grudgingly admitted he seemed somewhat intelligent, which was high praise indeed, and he had this aura about him that made it seem as if everyone was merely alive to amuse him. His smug disdain infuriated Harry even as it made him wonder what it would be like to kiss the smirk off his lips.

Harry saw him with someone different every night. Boys, girls, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and even a few Hufflepuffs. When he saw Zabini press Smith against the wall on the third floor one night, he’d felt white-hot jealousy grip him. He’d watched, though, unable to walk away. He’d watched as Smith moved to his knees and Zabini had leaned back against the wall. He’d watched as Smith’s blond head moved back and forth while Zabini had looked right at Harry and smirked as he fucked Smith’s mouth. Harry had run. He’d hurried through the halls up to his dorm and then he’d wanked so hard and fast he’d come with his shorts still around his thighs.

From that night on, he caught Zabini a half-dozen times in the following weeks. Always smirking, always with another bloke or bird on their knees, and always watching Harry watch him. That, in itself, proved his belief that Zabini was strange. What sort of bloke let another bloke watch him shag someone else? And still Harry watched him, followed him, wanted him.

Harry groaned as he felt a hard thigh press against his erection. One rough palm gripped his wrists and pinned them above his head while the other squeezed his arse. He finally opened his eyes and wasn’t that surprised to see Zabini watching him from the shadows. Harry smirked as Smith moved to his knees and eagerly began to suck his cock. His gaze never left Zabini’s as his hips moved back and forth to fuck Smith’s ready mouth. When he came, he bit his lip to keep himself from moaning Zabini’s name.

After he was done, when his palm was sticky with Smith’s release and the obnoxious blond had gone back to his common room, he watched Zabini, challenging him. He was confused when the black boy merely smirked and winked before tucking his spent cock back into his trousers. When Zabini pursed his lips and blew him a kiss before he walked away, Harry fell back against the wall and watched the retreating figure with curious eyes.

Then he began to smile as he tucked himself into his trousers and fixed his robes. He was no closer to understanding Zabini, but he was beginning to think the search for answers was just as much fun as knowing would be. Zabini was strange and beautiful and, soon, Harry decided stubbornly that he was going to solve the puzzle and figure out just what made Blaise Zabini tick.

The End