Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ron was sat in the back office, muttering under his breath as he - rather indignantly - did the summer inventory. He was scribbling down the list by hand, flicking his wand to move things around in the room, using spells to find out quantities and placements of products in the connecting storeroom. George had banned him from working the shop floor, again, after he managed to cast (and hit, rather spectacularly if he said so himself) a bat-bogey hex on yet another Daily Prophet reporter. The fuckers bloody deserve it, who the hell harasses someone at their work of all places? For a sodding article? Ron just wanted them to leave WWW out of it, out of their vile gossip columns. It wasn’t only unfair that the Prophet hounded him the way they did, but frankly amoral.

The redhead was stabbing the inventory list hard enough with his pen that it went through the piece of paper, ripping a big hole in the middle and scraping the clipboard underneath. Ron drew in a deep, annoyed breath, closing his eyes as he released it, pinching the bridge of his scrunched nose. 

This bloody day, I swear.

With a shake of his head he grabbed a new sheet and started copying what he had already noted down, crumpling up the ruined page and blindly tossing it to the direction of the bin. Or at least towards where he had last seen the bin. The bin was somewhere there anyway.

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the strands in the back of his neck in frustration. A part of him - even if it was a rather small, insignificant part of him - knew that there was a possibility that he may have, perhaps, potentially, overreacted. Again. Merlin’s saggy bollocks. Ron let his chin fall to his chest, head hanging in frustrated embarrassment.

George came bounding in through the door just then, carrying a large, opened cardboard box of the new WonderWitch starter packs. They hadn’t spoken since the incident, which was a good few hours ago already. The older brother let out a long, low whistle.

”I have to give it to you Ronniekins, your bat-bogey is nearly as good as Ginny’s nowadays, your hatred towards the press is truly inspiring,” George jested, as he placed the carton down next to the desk his brother was sat by. ”Take these to the storeroom when you’re done, yeah? I only needed a few for the display window. I closed the shop already, I just need to count the till before we leave.”

Ron didn’t reply, just huffed in response. He couldn’t give a damn if he was behaving like a moody teenager. He felt like a moody teenager, so it was only appropriate. Besides, he had never been known for his patience and levelheadedness. George sighed, turning to face Ron with his hands on his hips, somehow managing to look both stern and gentle at once. He looked eerily like their mother.

”They’re scumbags and we all know it Ron, I hate them as much as the next Weasley does, but this is our business, you can’t just lose it every time they prod at you a little.”

Ron let out a humourless bark of laughter.

”A little? A little? George he bloody asked me if I’m a top or bottom! He literally wanted to know if I take it up the arse or not!” The younger wizard protested, waving his hands wildly in the air. Turning to look at his brother Ron could see George trying his best to suppress the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

”Well, first of all, that’s a hardly a question that even needs asking, you can’t simply attack people just because they don’t possess common sense,” he replied, then ducked down as Ron threw the pen at his head, ”but I get it, Ron. I genuinely do. The fuckers basically stalk you, ask you about things they have no business knowing, they’re bastards. But you only fuel their fire when you react like this.”

Sometimes Ron hated that everything that had happened during and since the war had matured George so much, and not only because they had all been children in a world of cruel chance, forced to grow up far too fast. He knew his brother was right about this. He could practically see the headlines already; enraged Ronald Weasley attacks another reporter, would a boyfriend finally tame the hotheaded war hero? Couldn’t they just be teenagers again, planting portable swamps and setting off fireworks at people they despised?

“I just don’t understand why they’re so bloody invested in my love life,” he grumbled, picking up a new pen from the desk. George made a duhh face at Ron.

“People adore relationship gossip, it sells the papers, and you’re the only single member of the Golden Trio, of course they’re going to be invested. Harry and I are old news already, and Hermione is having to dodge the press just as much as you when it comes to Pansy,” George pointed out while he picked up the crumpled piece of paper his brother had tossed on the floor.

“But they don’t let reporters in the Ministry or St. Mungo’s,” Ron mumbled, pushing his face into his palms. If he hadn’t he would’ve clocked George’s silent scoff.

“You’re more than welcome to quit and become a healer if you so desire brother dear, or go back to being an Auror,” he quipped back. Ron moved his hands to the sides of his face to glare at the older Weasley.

“And what? Leave you here to run things into the ground by yourself? I don’t bloody think so,” he retorted, making George let out a little laugh. “And, by the way, I want a notebook for this, I hate the clipboard.”

“Noted,” George replied with a smirk, nudging Ron’s shoulder as the younger brother rolled his eyes, full of feigned annoyance. George grabbed a chair from beside the door, bringing it over to the desk and sitting down opposite of Ron.

”Let’s continue that tomorrow,” he said, gesturing at the inventory list, ”I actually have something I need to discuss with you.”

Ron glanced at George warily.

”I promise I’ll reel it in from now on,” Ron replied, hoping to convince his brother he wasn’t going to go off again. He genuinely felt bad. But George just shook his head, a surprisingly somber expression taking over his face. The playful glint in his eyes was suddenly gone, their shade of brown somehow dimmer than before.

”This isn’t about today.”

Ron squinted, pointing an accusing finger at his brother.

”If you even dare to suggest that you’re so much as thinking of breaking up with Harry, or anything along those lines, I will actually murder you,” he started, voice nearly a hiss. George gave him an incredulous stare, his gaze bordering on abhorrent.

”Of-fucking-course not, are you thick? Why would you even say that?” He asked, face twisted into a sneer, sounding genuinely offended. Ron leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

”Okay, well, what then? You’re being weirdly serious, you never want to discuss things this… solemnly.”

George observed his brother carefully, his brows and mouth strict, straight lines. Then he took a deep breath, eyes flickering between Ron’s face and the inventory list on the desk.

“I’m just gonna come out and say it,” George declared, and then made no effort to continue. Ron gave his brother an exasperated look, shaking his head in annoyance. What the hell was he stalling for?

“Well? Say it then? You’re starting to freak me out.”

George ran his hand through his air, squaring his shoulders, finally opening his mouth, and—

”I’ve sold 50% of the company.”

Thick silence filled the space in the office. 

Huh?

Ron blinked. And blinked again. He felt like a cold, wet wave had washed over him. George had done what?

”You’ve sold half of the company,” Ron said, slowly, not quite believing the words himself.

”Yes,” George confirmed with an accompanying nod.

”You’ve sold half of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” Ron reiterated, his voice still holding its skeptical edge. Surely George wouldn’t, at least not without discussing this with him first? Surely not? But George just kept nodding.

”Correct.”

It was quickly becoming apparent to Ron that his brother was, in fact, not kidding about this.

”To who?” He asked frantically.

”Now, this is where I need you to be levelheaded,” George started, lifting his hands warningly in the air, palms towards the younger man in an attempt to keep things calm, as Ron felt an angry scowl taking over his face. Oh sweet Merlin, this could not be good.

”To who, George?” 

Ron heard the pitch in his voice going up but he couldn’t help it. His head was light, gut twisted into knots, like waiting for the big drop on a rollercoaster. George pursed his lips, then took another big breath before he spoke.

”Blaise Zabini.”

Ron froze, not moving an inch in his seat. He felt like his stomach had now dropped through the ground, a nauseating, swirling sensation replacing it. George sold their company to a Slytherin? A stuck up, morose, tedious, wrong-side-of-the-war Slytherin who probably couldn’t come up with a joke or a prank to save his life? What the actual fuck?

”You sold Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to Blaise fucking Zabini?” 

”Ron—”

But the younger man was shaking his head furiously, lifting his hands up in the air.

”No, don’t Ron me! We don’t know him, we know basically nothing about him! I thought if you ever sold it would be someone we trust! He’s a bloody Slytherin, hell, he was a baby Death Eater at Hogwarts George! How can you sell your life’s work, how can you sell Fred’s—”

George’s voice sliced the air like a knife.

”Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” 

The hurt in his tone was raw. It felt burning and sharp, like a hot blade pressed against Ron’s heart. He shouldn’t have said that. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t— I don’t know why I…” he half-apologised, trailing off. He avoided looking his brother in the eye. 

Always with my damn foot in my mouth.

“It’s okay,” George said - although voice still strained, “I knew you’d be upset if I sell, I won’t hold it against you. But I want a business partner, sole ownership is fucking tough and you know it. Besides, Blaise has incredible business sense, he brought Fortescue’s back from the brink of bankruptcy—“

But Ron cut him off. 

“We aren’t going bankrupt! We are fine! And you have me!”

“I know, but the plan is to expand, we want that Hogsmeade location, and that’s what I need a business partner for! I need financial support, and I need someone who knows how to manage and expand businesses. It’s not going to be an easy defeat.” George paused, giving Ron a long, stern look. ”And as much as I know you hate to hear this, I’ve gotten to know Blaise in recent months—“

The younger brother let out on offended yelp.

“Months?! How long have you been plotting this behind my back?”

“—and he isn’t just a great entrepreneur but a very decent man as well,” George finished.

Ron scoffed loudly as he started rubbing off seemingly invisible stains on the desk.

“Zabini wouldn’t know decent if it hit him in the fucking face,” he muttered, eyes cast down. 

George placed a hand on top of Ron’s, to stop his fingers from trying to dig into the wooden surface of the tabletop.

“When’s the last time you’ve spoken a word to him? Sixth year? In 1997? It’s been eight years Ron! Besides, his mother may be a gold digging husband poisoning sociopath, but his family was never Death Eaters.” Ron heard the attempted humour on his brother’s voice, but he was not the slightest bit amused.

“He’s a Slytherin George!”

The older Weasley threw his arms in the air in over-exaggeration. 

“Who bloody cares! You’re friends with Pansy and Theo so stop it with the double standards! Theo’s dad actually was a Death Eater!”

Okay, yes, fair point, I guess. Not that Ron would ever admit that out loud. But it wasn’t the only reason why Ron couldn’t think of a worse person to sell their company to. So he doubled down.

“But Zabini is arrogant, he’s always been like that! A stuck up dickhead who thinks he’s better than everyone! He hasn’t even made an effort to meet Hermione and she’s been going out with Pansy for seven months!” 

Four, publicly.

George shook his head.

“The whole point of surviving the war was to forgive and forget!”

“But they’re the ones who did all the shit the rest of us need to forget!” The younger brother replied, gesturing wildly at himself when he got to the rest of us. George scoffed.

“Just because you have some kind of personal vendetta—“

Ron felt annoyance bubbling in his chest as his volume went up in offence, interrupting his brother. “I do not have a personal ven—“

George stood abruptly, his voice just as loud as Ron’s now.

“Oh stop it, you clearly do! This shouldn’t be personal, this is nothing personal!”

Ron got up out of his seat now too.

“Nothing personal? You’ve made your mind up about this without any consideration of what I think or how I feel! What do I know anyway, I’ve only been running this place with you for four bloody years!”

Both of their chests were rising and falling with heavy breaths, lungs filling with hot frustration. George stared at his younger brother for a long moment before he let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Ron, please. I couldn’t have ever done this without you. You were there for me when I needed you and I love you, you’re my only little brother. You pretty much saved my life. But this isn’t about feelings, it’s about what’s best for us and for the company. I’m selling half to Blaise, it’s a done deal. He’s coming over tomorrow to sign the documents.”

The younger Weasley grabbed the clipboard from the table, throwing it on the floor.

“Fucking fine, see if I give a rat’s arse!” He bellowed, throwing his hands in the air as he started storming towards the door leading to the shop floor. “Screw this, I’m fucking leaving!”

George didn’t move to come after him.

“Blaise is coming tomorrow and you have to be here, don’t be—“ 

The office door slammed shut with a deafening bang.

Late. 

Ron knew that’s what George said. Don’t be late. He stomped through the shop, unlocking the front door with shaky hands, and once he managed to open it the redhead practically dove into the crowds in Diagon Alley. Normally he would’ve just used the fireplace in the office to get home, but the situation warranted a dramatic exit.

Ron needed a drink, a strong one. But who could he ask to the pub with him? Harry was out of question even if he was Ron’s best friend, he could hardly complain about Harry’s boyfriend to Harry, Ron didn’t want to put him into an uncomfortable position. And the raven haired saviour of the wizarding world had probably known about George’s intention to sell and had said nothing about it, so Ron was pissed off at him by proxy. Some best friend he was. Theo and Pansy were friends with Blaise, and Hermione would never go to the pub on a weekday so they were all out. Ginny was at training camp and Luna - well, as much as Ron loved his sister’s wife, he just really needed someone who wouldn’t want to discuss the alleged invisible mating rituals of demiguises.

But Neville was nearing the end of term, surely he could pop out for a pint or two. Ron took out his Nokia to tap out a message to the man in question.

Hogs head in 30 min? I need 2 rant.

It only took a minute for his phone to buzz as the reply came in.

C u there at 8.

Ron shoved his phone back into his back pocket with a huff, and started walking with brisk, irritated steps towards the Diagon Alley Floo station.

Fuck Blaise Zabini.

Chapter Text

It was a very hot morning, even by June standards, as Blaise Zabini made his way towards 93 Diagon Alley. He was starting to sweat in his dark suit, but a business deal was a business deal and he would rather be caught dead than not dressed professionally when signing on a new acquisition. 

And what an acquisition it was, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. This was the fourth company he had bought into in as many years, the other three much less successful when he acquired them. He had in fact made his name by bringing companies back from the brink of despair, Fortescue’s being the latest shop he saved.

Not that he was particularly interested in ice cream, or novelty products. He just knew what had the potential to sell well.

When the war ended, Blaise hadn’t returned to Hogwarts for the optional eight year for those who missed their seventh. His mother had sent him to Italy in July 1997, before things got really bad. Blaise had felt guilty about leaving his friends and his mother in England, but he had no say in the matter. When he returned, two months after what was now known as the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been given two options: back to school, or internship with his mother’s then - now dead ex - husband. Blaise chose the latter.

Lucrezia’s seventh husband was a ruthless, malevolent and uncharitable man. But he was undeniably good at business. Blaise had both learned what to do and what not to do in the world on commerce from him. How to handle partners, how to negotiate with competitors, how not to treat employees. That was the only big mistake his stepfather had made, mistreated the people he hired. Blaise spent four years working under the miserable bastard, until his untimely, tragic and oh so accidental death.

Blaise was aware that he had great business sense, his success was a mixture of natural talent and valuable lessons early in his career in the industry. He knew which moves to make and changes to implement to get a venture to thrive. And perhaps most crucially, unlike his stepfather, he knew who to hire to keep them succeeding; the importance of surrounding yourself with good people. Which is why he was comfortable letting his employees run things, so he could focus on future plans and expansions.

He could see the purple and orange exterior of WWW peering in the distance as he made his way down the cobblestone street. He had already met up with George multiple times, but always at his own office in muggle London. This would be their first meeting in the shop itself, and first time meeting both of the brothers at once. It would actually be the first time he had seen Ron Weasley since— well, the end of sixth year. A lot had changed since then.

They weren’t kids anymore, first and foremost. They weren’t house rivals with feuding best friends. They weren’t in mortal peril, or fighting against or reluctantly alongside dark wizards. They weren’t full of teenage angst and acne.

Thank Merlin for that.

He knew the Golden Trio frequented most newspaper’s headlines, but he had always tried to pay little attention to idle gossip. He didn’t want to probe his classmates’ personal lives, as quite a few of them had ended up more or less famous. Blaise and Draco had gotten their fair share of column coverage themselves. So he had seen some fleeting headlines about Ron Weasley, some blurry photos of him usually trying to get away from the cameras as quickly as possible. There had been a recent article about him hexing a reporter at the shop. Which Blaise secretly applauded, as the tabloid press were generally vultures and lowlives.

It didn’t take long for the Slytherin to reach the bright orange door of number 93 Diagon Alley. The shop wasn’t open yet, but George had said he’d leave the door unlocked for Blaise. He placed his hand on the wooden surface and pushed. It opened with a small, normal ding, which surprised Blaise. Surely the Weasleys would’ve preferred a horn or maybe a fart to announce the arrival of new customers? Isn’t that how these kind of shops worked? Horns and farts everywhere? Who even found horns and farts amusing at this day and age? Blaise had to admit that he had himself never really been one for practical jokes. 

A mop of auburn red hair appeared from behind one of the shelves.

”Blaise! Come on in, we’re just setting things up for today,” George said, rushing over to shake the Slytherin’s hand. ”I have the papers ready in the office, please,” he said, gesturing towards the door on the left from the check out, ”Ron is there doing our inventory, I’ll be another minute or so, just going to finish up here quickly.”

”Great, thank you George,” Blaise replied, walking towards the back. But he stopped before he grasped the doorknob, fingers hovering above the brass handle in hesitation. Maybe he should knock, not to startle the younger Weasley in the other room if he genuinely was there doing the inventory. Ronald Weasley had never been exactly known for his calmness. He gave the door two sharp taps with his knuckles before he pushed it open and stepped in.

His eyes immediately landed on a head of fiery red hair, more vivid and bright than his brother’s, with sun bleached tips. Ron was sat cross legged on the floor near the second door leading to what Blaise presumed was the storeroom - and or lab - surrounded by boxes and products. He was hunched over, sorting the packages in concentration, straining forward to reach some of them. There was a small pile of papers on the desk next to Ron.

”Weasley,” Blaise said with a polite nod, still standing in the doorway. Ron barely glanced his way.

”Zabini,” he mumbled quietly in response.

The awkward greetings were followed by a long, tense pause. Weasley kept moving around the products in front of him, occasionally writing things down in a notebook that laid on the floor beside him.

”How are you?” Blaise asked when he couldn’t bear the deafening silence any longer, but Ron only replied with a scoff and a shrug. 

Lovely, the attitude of an angry hippogriff.  

Not knowing what else to do, the Slytherin walked over to the desk and chair, sitting down, quietly observing the man he hadn’t seen in just under eight years. 

The Gryffindor was just as ginger as when they were at school, but Ron had grown beautifully into his then-awkward frame. He used to be lanky but now he was slender, he was wearing stone washed jeans and a moss green t-shirt with yellow contrast trim lining the hem, collar and sleeves. The colours reminded Blaise of sunflowers. The shirt itself seemed like it was too short, but in a fashionable kind of way, like it was designed to show skin if the wearer lifted their arms even a little. Maybe if the redhead stood up to reach for the products on the upper shelves…

“What the hell are you looking at?”

Blaise snapped his eyes to meet the other wizard’s stormy gaze.

Ron’s irises were strikingly blue - there was something rather unnerving about their shade, it reminded Blaise of the sea in Italy - and their contrast with the redness of his hair and the paleness of his skin somehow highlighted all of his features. He almost looked ethereal. The Slytherin felt an inexplicable need to trace his finger down Ron’s long nose, to his bow shaped upper lip. And Merlin, that plump upper lip; pink and dusted with the same freckles that danced across his cheeks and nose. 

Huh. Who would’ve guessed that Ron Weasley grew up to be this gorgeous. Not that he had ever been bad looking, when they were in school. But now, now there was something bewitching about him.

Before Blaise could let his mind (and eyes) wander any more, and before he even managed to reply to Ron’s confrontational question, George walked into the room with a brown file in his grasp.

”Ignore him, he’s hungover,” the older Weasley said, gesturing towards his brother on the floor.

”Well aren’t you a delight,” Blaise chided sarcastically, letting his gaze linger a little bit longer on the defiant redhead glaring at him with fire in his eyes. Blaise was quite certain Ron wouldn’t reply to the comment - he hadn’t exactly been talkative thus far, unless you counted his singular attempt to pick a fight - so hearing his voice just as Blaise started turning around caught the Slytherin slightly off guard.

”Fuck. off.” Ron stressed each syllable, the consonants harsh on his tongue. Blaise turned back to face him, locking eyes with the redhead again, flashing a hostile smile. The Slytherin couldn’t explain why, but he wanted a reaction. His heartbeat sped up.

”Charming. I can only hope this isn’t how you treat the customers, but with your grace and manners I won’t hold my breath.”

That made Ron finally jump up from the floor.

”Ha! Look who’s talking about grace or manners! You obnoxious prick, when’s the last time you’ve met up with your so called friends?”

Blaise knew Ron was close with Theo and Pansy nowadays, even more so now that Pansy was dating Ron's longest and best friend. And there might have been a ring of truth to the redhead’s accusation, Blaise had been exceptionally busy for the past few years and he hadn’t seen his friends and family half as much as he would’ve liked. Maybe that’s why the words struck a chord in him. But he had been making a name for himself, proving his worth to a world that had not seen him as much else than the golden spoon fed only heir of a filthy rich socialite, who had bagged the inheritance and status of no less than seven ex-husbands. And Blaise had proved himself, he had gained the respect of the people he worked with, did business with, the people he employed. He treated every person well but he didn’t take bullshit from anyone. Blaise was good at what he did, and he had not needed a single galleon, sickle or knut from his mother to make his own way in the world. So yes, maybe he had been somewhat more absent from his friends’ lives, but it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

And perhaps he did, on occasion, prioritise going out looking for some late night company, the kind his friends simply could not offer him. He had needs though, needs he needed to fulfil, especially when his day-to-day life was as demanding and busy as it tended to be.

What did Weasley know about anything anyway?

”I can see that the Daily Prophet hasn’t been lying about your temper, if anything galvanic was too kind of an adjective,” Blaise retorted, ignoring the redhead’s question altogether in order to provoke, again. Which worked, probably too well, because Ron started practically stalking towards the Slytherin, stopping only when he had invaded Blaise’s personal space, one index finger in the air between their heads, now separated by two feet. The Slytherin noticed faint, light scars wrapping around the redhead’s raised left arm.

But before he could pay the swirling patterns any closer attention, Blaise was distracted by an aromatic scent that made his eyes flutter as he inhaled. Like a mix of fresh rosemary and some sweet gourmand pie he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Merlin, even Ron’s scent was enchanting.

His words, however, were not.

”The Daily fucking Prophet knows nothing about me so don’t you fucking dar—”

George clapped loudly, startling the two men standing face to face in the middle of the room. Blaise clenched his hands. They felt clammy.

”Both of you, shut up! We’re not bloody teenagers anymore!” He said, frustrated eyes shifting from Ron to Blaise and back to Ron. “We’re about to become business partners, and I would like very much for this dynamic to work, so please, can you both make an effort to get along?” 

George was now looking at his brother rather than Blaise, but the Slytherin felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He never let his emotions get the best of him at work, he wasn’t snarky or sarcastic when it came to business. He was known for not losing his composure, for fuck’s sake. Ron was just— being annoying, and the redhead had unknowingly pushed one of his very few buttons. Blaise bowed his head is acknowledgement.

”I apologise, that was a lapse in judgement on my part. It won’t happen again.”

George gave him a professional but grateful smile. Then he turned his gaze to the other redhead in the room, crossing his arms across his chest.

”Ron?”

The wizard in question narrowed his eyes challengingly as he turned to look at his brother, mirroring George’s body language.

”I’ll make an effort when he makes an effort,” Ron sneered, nudging his head towards the taller man standing beside him.

“Ron,” George repeated, but it sounded more like a warning. Blaise could practically feel the sibling dynamics radiating off the pair. The two Weasleys held each other’s gaze for a long moment, one pair of eyes stubborn and the other stern. 

Ron backed down first, with a huff. 

“Alright fine, whatever,” he mumbled before adding a hasty ’sorry’.

”Good. Let’s talk shop then, shall we?” George replied, voice significantly cheerier as he clapped his hands together again, this time signifying agreement. ”You both already know the plan; expand by opening a shop in Hogsmeade. We already have enough stock to do it, we just need to lock down a location and get it sorted.”

Blaise nodded.

”Great, I’ll happily start looking for one as soon as possible,” he replied. Ron scoffed loudly, so the Slytherin turned to him with a raised brow, as if to ask what now?

”I actually live in Hogsmeade, I think I should be the one who scouts out the new location,” the redhead retorted. 

I didn’t realise he lives there. I would’ve thought London for sure.

George stepped up to the desk, placing down the brown file he was holding next to the papers already sitting on the tabletop.

”Fantastic, you two can start looking for the new venue together while I keep things running here,” he stated, smiling rather cunningly. Both men opened their mouths to protest but George beat them to it. ”That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Blaise and Ron both grumbled a reluctant ‘no’. George only smiled wider.

“We just need to narrow down what we are looking for and what the budget is. Let’s have a few meetings over the next couple of weeks to suss out the details and then maybe last week of June you guys can get going. Until then you’re welcome to join us at the shop Blaise, office work or sales, whatever’s the most beneficial. I can even show you what we do in the lab so you’ll know your way around the basics. That sound good?”

Blaise nodded but his face was twisted into an uncertain frown.

”Are you sure it’s a good idea to have us both doing the scouting? You don’t need help with the shop here? I can absolutely handle it on my own too,” he suggested, attempting to sound as diplomatic as possible. What he really wanted to say was that is the single worst idea I have ever heard in my entire life. George shook his head.

”No no, I’ll be absolutely fine. I’ll get Lee or Percy to come in to help if I need it."

Ron crossed his arms across his chest and turned to face Blaise once more. His nose seemed to be in a permanent scrunch.

“And why should I be the one that stays helping here if only one of us scouts?” He asked, rather uncooperatively.

“Well, in addition to the fact that you’ve already been working in this shop for years and know your way around, it is also my expertise to make a business bigger and better,” Blaise stated in response, his voice calm. He was adamant not to let irritation take over again. The redhead’s expression filled with rebellion.

“Well, my expertise is to shove it up your—“

But George managed to cover Ron’s mouth with his hand.

“That is quite enough Ronniekins,” the older Weasley said through gritted teeth, “I recon this hangover of yours requires a sick day, alas home time for you, right now.”

George started practically dragging his brother towards the door leading to the shop floor, while Ron fought against the palm pressed against his face.

“The papers are on the table Blaise, I’ve marked the places that you need to sign and then it’s all official,” George instructed over his shoulder. “Welcome to the team, mate!”

The office door closed with a thud. 

Blaise turned to the papers waiting on the desk, a quill lying next to the brown file. He walked over and grabbed the feather end, leaning against the table as he flipped through the pages, finding the sheets that required his signature. 

His fingers tingled each time he wrote his name.

Strange.

Chapter Text

Ron was genuinely surprised by just how much Blaise was actually around, at the shop. He had been so sure the man would just disappear after the initial meeting, only coming in for an hour or so when something needed discussing. But the Slytherin had been there, every damn day, spending time not just in the office but shop floor as well as the lab. Most mornings he came in at 9am and often stayed longer than the Weasleys themselves.

And it was really starting to piss Ron off. Especially on a morning like this, when he was running late. It was nearly 9.30 already, and the Gryffindor was sure that now he’d be the last one in. He rushed around topless in his small two story townhouse, trying to make sure he was grabbing everything he needed. He also needed a shirt. What the hell should he wear? And why the fuck had he started stressing about what to wear to work? It was work, for gods’ sake. He was just more mindful because Blaise was there now, probably judging his every move. At least he felt the Slytherin’s eyes following him, from time to time.

He ended up choosing a slightly oversized dark purple shirt with short sleeves, leaving the top half unbuttoned and layering it with a white tank top. He stared at his reflection in the mirror by his door.

This’ll have to do.

It would’ve been very easy to just openly loathe Zabini if the man was inattentive and aloof, but he was really putting in the hours as well as the effort. Blaise was clearly trying to learn what it took to run a joke shop, especially one as successful as WWW. It was annoying. Like everything else about the stupidly tall wizard.

Ron snatched his phone and wand from the kitchen table as he dashed towards the door. Usually he’d use the floo to get himself to work, but today he needed to run to Scrivenshaft’s to get some new stationery materials, and Hogsmeade was cheaper than Diagon Alley. Ron was grateful to George for paying extra for the direct connection to the office, the redhead had had enough bad run ins with the paparazzi near the public floo stations that George claimed the private fireplace paid itself back in peace and quiet. But apparating would have to do today, which made his stomach turn slightly. He was still rather hesitant to apparate, ever since the splinching. The scar on his shoulder ached every time he thought about the Forest of Dean.

The redhead practically ran through the stationery shop, collecting everything he needed, paying hastily before he shoved everything in his magically expanded bag. He stepped out into the bright summer morning, and a second and a crack later he emerged at one of Diagon Alley’s apparition points. Ron didn’t want to hit any unsuspecting customers or cause any kind of commotion, so he usually avoided apparating straight into the shop. He tucked his chin to his chest as he rushed through the crowd, hoping he wouldn’t be recognised or stopped on his way to number 93.

And he wasn’t, because only a few minutes later he was already pushing the orange door open with a ding.

Blaise was behind the till, with a pile of documents and files in his grasp that he was reading deep in thought. He had been going through them for the past couple of days, and seemed to still be very much at it. Ron hadn’t bothered asking the other man what he was doing. He wasn’t interested in what Zabini was doing.

The Slytherin looked up when he heard the bell above the door going. ”Morning,” he greeted.

”Morning,” Ron replied, gazing around to check if there were any customers who might need his immediate help. The shop was empty, which wasn’t surprising, as it was a Wednesday before the school’s were out for the summer. They’d get busy soon enough.

”Your brother’s here,” Blaise said rather absentmindedly while he kept flipping through the documents. Ron walked past the Slytherin, hanging his denim jacket on the hatstand they had behind the till.

”No shit, he’s here every day,” Ron snarked back, rolling his eyes. Zabini huffed.

”One of your other brothers,” he replied, gesturing with his chin towards the office door behind Ron.

”Oh,” Ron’s whole demeanour perked up then. He loved seeing any of his siblings. ”Which one?”

Blaise opened his mouth, about to answer his question, when—

”Ronnie!”

Ron smiled before he even turned around.

“Charlie! What are you doing here? I thought you won’t be back in England until Christmas!”

His second oldest brother appeared from behind the office door, in jeans and a white sleeveless undershirt, a big smile on his face as his arms opened up for a hug. Ron rounded the till, meeting him in the middle. Charlie gave him a big kiss on the cheek as they embraced.

“A last minute work thing, the Department of Magical Creatures needs help,” he replied, ruffling Ron’s hair. The younger brother squeaked and ducked away, patting at his head self-consciously. Charlie just grinned cheekily and started walking towards where Blaise was stood.

“Viktor sends his greetings by the way,” Charlie said as he glanced back, grabbing his plaid shirt from behind the counter. Ron furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Viktor? Do you mean Krum?” He asked, feeling a small flutter in the pit of his stomach at the mention of his teenage crush. ”To who?”

Charlie walked back over to Ron, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You and George,” he replied, with that same charming smile. Ron let out an airy, nervous laugh.

“I didn’t realise he knows who George and I are,” he muttered in response.

“Oh, he knows,” Charlie said with a little wink. Ron decided he didn’t even want to know what the hell that was about. The less questions he asked about the mischief his brothers were up to at all times, the better. Charlie especially had some mad stories from Bulgaria.

”Where’s Katya?” Ron asked instead, looking around for his brother’s fiancée. She couldn’t be far behind. As if on cue, the dark haired beauty walked out of the office with George in tow. She was wearing a flowing floral summer dress.

”Ron!” She beamed as she rushed over, smothering the youngest Weasley brother in lip-glossy kisses.

”Hey KitKat,” he said with a chuckle as the two parted, wiping his cheek.

”Viktor sends his love!” The gorgeous Bulgarian chirped, a twinkle in her eye as she gave Ron a motherly once over.

”So I’ve heard,” Ron replied while glancing around at his inexplicably smug brothers. His eyes shifted towards Blaise who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Usually the man was all polite greetings and engaging small talk. 

The Slytherin was observing the other four people in the room, still holding the same documents, with a crease between his eyebrows and lips tightened to a line. Which was fair enough, Ron found paperwork quite stressful as well. His attention was snapped back to Katya when she firmly slid her hands up Ron’s arms to his face.

”You’re looking great, Ronnie! How did you get so pretty when your brothers are all such oafs?” Katya asked with a shake of her head, cupping his cheek gently as she brushed his long fringe to the side. Ron felt his skin heating up as he let out a small self-conscious hum.

”Hey now Katya, we are impeccable, Arthur and Molly Weasley only make beautiful children!” George jested, framing his face with his hands and batting his eyelashes to prove his point. Charlie joined his brother and struck a pose next to him, lifting his arms to show off his biceps.

”Genetic perfection, some would say,” he added, flexing his muscles.

Katya laughed, her bright giggle filling Ron’s chest with warmth, a feeling of safeness. He adored his brothers’ partners. They felt like home to him.

”You boys just keep telling yourself that,” she replied, patting George on the back. ”We hate to love you and leave you, but Charlie your meeting starts at 10. We need to get going.”

”You’re the boss, milichko,” Charlie said with a salute, ”catch you later losers! And nice meeting you Blaise!” He hollered as he walked towards the front door. Katya rushed over to Zabini, practically diving in for a hug.

”Yes Blaise it was an absolute pleasure! We must have dinner when we’re in England next!” She leaned backwards, pushing Zabini gently and moving her hands so that she was gripping onto the sleeves of his suit jacket now, looking him up and down. ”Now this,” she started, turning to give Charlie and George pointed stares, ”this right here is a handsome man!"

Blaise chuckled, all deep and throaty. It made Ron’s stomach flutter uncomfortably.

“Why are you giving compliments to everyone but us two?” George asked, gesturing at himself and their older brother.

“Because you two don’t deserve them, after what you did last Christmas,” the gorgeous Bulgarian said with narrowed eyes, pointing at the men in question.

“Ah, so the truth finally comes out!” Charlie exclaimed dramatically, while George pressed his hands against his chest as if surprised.

“One harmless little prank and we become undesirables number one and two,” he stated, lifting the back of his palm to his forehead in feigned anguish.

Katya let out a shocked gasp.

“Harmless? My hair was on fire!”

“It wasn’t real fire though,” George said, letting his hands drop to his sides as he grinned devilishly.

”The pleasure was all mine, Katya and Charlie,” Blaise then said, cutting into the conversation as the Bulgarian rolled her eyes at the two sniggering brothers.

Katya hurried over to George and Ron, giving both a parting kiss on the cheek, before she joined her fiancé by the entrance of the shop, planting a smooch on his mouth. With a wave the two were off.

”Right, I’ll be in the office if you need me,” George said, before he disappeared into the backroom.

Ron watched the lingering smile on Blaise’s face as the Slytherin turned back to his paperwork. He wondered if Blaise thought Katya was beautiful. Probably, because Katya was beautiful.

”Her accent isn’t very strong, is it? A mix of Bulgarian and English?” the Slytherin asked. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

”She lived in England when she was younger.” 

Ron really didn’t want Zabini to ask him any questions about his brother’s fiancée. The taller man nodded.

”That explains.”

They worked alongside each other for a couple hours, the redhead helping customers while Blaise focused on going through WWW’s accounts. Ron found that out by actually finally asking the other wizard what he had been doing with the documents that week.

Then at lunch time yet another head of red hair appeared through the door, this time a lot longer but the same auburn shade as George’s, accompanied by a starry eyed blonde. Ron was eating a Cornish pastry that he had made the night before while George had just about finished his sandwich. Blaise still hadn’t had lunch, he quite often headed out to eat in one of the restaurants in Diagon Alley.

Posh wanker.

“Hey Gin, Luna!” George quipped happily, ”You’re a few hours too late!”

“Huh?” Ginny asked, walking to the till to give his brothers each a hug, Luna in tow. The blonde was wearing a blue long sleeved dress and a collection of pendants and chunky necklaces, with flowers braided into her wavy hay coloured locks, while the youngest Weasley was in her green and gold training kit.

“Charlie and Katya swung by,” Ron filled them in, placing the rest of his pastry down next to the till. Ginny lifted her hand to her chest in feigned offence.

“They’re in England and didn’t tell me?” She asked, stabbing herself in the heart with an invisible dagger, “now we finally know for sure who the favourites are!”

“I think Blaise is the new favourite, actually,” George grinned, nodding with his head towards the Slytherin emerging from in between two of the shelves on the shop floor. Ron glanced at the taller man, who gave the two witches a polite bow. Ron rolled his eyes.

”Ginevra, Luna, lovely to see you again,” Blaise greeted.

”Goodness gracious Zabini, you’ve really filled out,” Ginny said, letting out a low whistle, ”have you ever considered swapping business to quidditch? We’re missing a beater, you know!”

Blaise chuckled.

”If I wanted to whack balls with bats I would’ve taken up cricket, but if you’re ever looking for another chaser I’ll leave you my contact details,” he stated, genuinely grinning at Ginny. He looked uncharacteristically boyish. Guess any man was easily won over with the slightest implication of being able to play professional sports. Ron had to fight another eye roll.

“Oh yeah, you played chaser for Slytherin, didn’t you? And pretty decently if my memory serves me!” The youngest Weasley praised, throwing in a complimentary wink as she grabbed her wife’s waist. Ron’s swivelled his head around towards his sister, a small sneer making its way onto his face.

”If my memory serves Gryffindor won the cup three times in a row, ’94, ’96 and ’97. And we would’ve won in ’95 but the season was cancelled because of the triwizard tournament. So I wouldn’t exactly call the Slytherin team decent,” he said, raising his eyebrows in disdain. It only made his sister laugh.

”Lighten up Ron, Crabbe and Goyle were the shite ones, Zabini and Malfoy were actually good,” Ginny then turned back to Blaise, “as much as my brother will never admit that.”

Ron and George started both speaking at the same time, Ginny joining in a few seconds later so that all three were talking over each other.

“They were not good—“

“I have to agree with Ron on this one Gin—“

“Oh come on, I’m the only professional quidditch player here, you two don’t get to tell me about my job—“

Blaise walked past the brothers and sister to reach the till.

”Is every Weasley sibling and their spouse going to grace us with their presence today?” The seemingly irritated Slytherin inquired, glancing around at the bickering redheads and the youngest’s smiling wife.

”Would you like to be one? A Weasley spouse?” Luna asked, gazing gently at Zabini who seemingly choked on air as George started cackling on his own. Ron felt a blush creeping up his neck. He decided to ignore the comment altogether, whatever Luna meant with it. Because with her you could never truly be sure. He walked up to the closest empty shelf and squatted down, continuing with what he had been doing before his lunch break and started to fill the shelf with the invisible ink bottles that were sitting in a box on the floor. Now his cheeks started to feel as warm as his neck. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.

”Are you here to fetch that broom back Gin? I have it at mine, but I can floo home to go get it?” He asked in order to steer the conversation away from wherever it had been headed to, aiming the question at his sister whose face was twisted into a grin comparable to that of the Cheshire Cat’s. Ron had been reading the muggle books Hermione gave him, and he quite liked Alice in Wonderland.

”Nah, that was a present, I think I was pretty clear when I said you can have it,” Ginny replied, grabbing Luna’s hand, ”we’re going to Gladrags, they have a new Diagon Alley location. We’ve had dress robes made for the season opening gala, thought we’d pop in to say hi.”

Luna kept staring at Blaise. 

”When is your birthday?” She asked, her baby blue eyes half lidded but as inquisitive as ever. For someone with such dreamlike aura her gaze could be unnaturally piercing.

”November 11th,” Zabini replied warily, eyes assessing the blonde, who only stared back with a tranquil smile plastered across her face.

”Oh, how wonderful! You’re a Scorpio! Did you know Ron is a Pisces? You’re both water signs,” Luna practically sighed.

”That is… interesting,” Blaise offered back.

“It is isn’t it?” she said breathlessly. ”Both very intuitive, great potential for deep mutual understanding.”

Ron snorted loudly from where he was crouched down. Fat chance, that. Zabini glanced at him, the Slytherin’s face rather unreadable.

“I’m afraid Ronald and understanding hardly fit into the same sentence,” Blaise said, his words directed at Luna but he was looking Ron square in the face. The redhead felt his cheeks heating up even worse and knew he must’ve been visibly flushed by now.

“That’s thick, coming from you,” Ron accused, getting up from the floor and crossing his arms across his chest defiantly.

“Care to elaborate?” The Slytherin inquired back. Ron was sure he was doing this on purpose, to annoy. Blaise knew what the redhead had meant. But still Ron raised to the bait.

“Your lot are the prejudiced ones, not me,” he replied, eyes simmering with indignation, like daring Zabini to go on.

”Your lot?” Blaise questioned, eyebrows an angry line. But George intervened before the conversation could escalate.

”Yeah yeah, we get it guys, Slytherins versus Gryffindors, light versus dark, Montagues versus Capulets, this little game of who’s bigger enemies with who is getting real old real fast,” he said, walking past both men. ”I’m going back into the lab, try not to strangle each other in the meantime.”

When the door of the office closed, Ginny turned back to face Ron.

“What’s a Montague?” She asked.

“A family from a Shakespeare play. You should borrow a few muggle books from Hermione, they’re actually pretty decent,” Ron replied. He walked over to the till and picked up the pastry he had set down earlier and continued to munch on it, slowly. This time Blaise went back to one of the other shelves, arranging some misplaced items back to their rightful spots. Ginny and Luna just looked caught up in the awkwardness of it all. Although come to think of it, Luna probably couldn’t even feel awkward. Her eyes had barely left Zabini’s form, she seemed to be observing him.

”Ginevra is an Italian name, you know,” Blaise said suddenly, breaking the short silence. Ron glanced at his sister who had a surprisingly gentle expression plastered across her face, turning towards the Slytherin.

”I actually didn’t,” she replied with genuine interest, ”does it mean anything?”

Zabini nodded.

”White Phantom.”

Ginny looked positively delighted.

”Fitting, if I say so myself!” She quipped, turning to look at Luna who was gazing at her encouragingly. She planted a kiss on her mouth, then turned back to face the Slytherin. “I like you Zabini, you should stick around.” Traitor. “Maybe you can even get Ron to cheer up a little.”

Ron gasped loudly.

”I am plenty cheerful—”

”He says, with absolutely no cheer,” Ginny cut in, shoving her brother’s shoulder. Ron let out a small hey! as he lost his footing. ”Right, I think we need to head to Gladrags now,” Ginny proclaimed, grabbing her wife’s hand again, kissing it. Luna nodded, but instead of walking to the front of the shop she went straight up to Zabini, placing both of her hands on his cheeks.

”Don’t run from your passion, Blaise, try to channel it,” she stated, smiling like what she said was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, without another word, she turned around and walked out of the door. Ginny let out a little snort of laughter and followed her wife out, the two witches disappearing into the crowd in the alley. Both Blaise and Ron just stared at the door for a small moment.

”What the hell was that,” Blaise finally said, half a statement half a question. Ron glanced at him, shaking his head with a smile.

”It’s just Luna, I’m surprised she didn’t tell me to harness my confidence again,” he replied with a chuckle. The Slytherin continued rearranging the shelf, or at least pretending to do so. 

”Some witches your siblings have found,” Blaise said, but it wasn’t a mocking statement. Ron could hear that the taller man genuinely meant it, that he had liked both Katya and Luna. The sincerity shone through his voice. 

The redhead felt annoyance stirring in his gut.

”Yeah well, they’re happy in their couples, so don’t even think about it,” he practically blurted out as he walked to stand behind the till, blindly grabbing things in a huff. Ron felt like he couldn’t contain himself around the Slytherin, every encounter was a word vomit. Zabini stopped his fake arranging and turned towards the redhead, looking more exasperated than Ron had ever seen him before.

”What makes you think I was—”

”Yeah well, just don’t, okay?” Ron scoffed, turning to walk to the back, arms full of random objects. Ron didn’t need them, but Blaise didn’t have to know that. ”I’m gonna be in the lab with George.”  As far as the Slytherin was aware they might need - Ron looked down at what he was carrying - a bottle of ink, a dungbomb, a stack of pink paper, a box of puking pastilles, and a fanged frisbee with them in the lab. A perfectly normal combination of things to test, and or develop.

Zabini walked up to Ron with an earnest expression on his face, like he was trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“I would never hit on or try to get involved with a taken, monogamous witch or wizard.”

Ron scoffed again.

“What? You don’t trust my word?” Blaise asked, voice tight.

“Trust is earned, not given,” Ron mumbled, but he was sure Zabini had heard him. “Like I said, I’m gonna be in the lab.”

He didn’t wait to hear what the Slytherin had to answer before he opened the office door and disappeared through it. 

Ron spent the rest of the day helping George with product development. But all he could really think about was which one of his brothers’ partners was more Blaise’s type. Was he into brunettes or blondes? Did he like foreign accents? Probably, why would he ask about Katya’s if he didn’t? Was he into Katya’s assertiveness or Luna’s observational company? Ron knew Blaise slept with both women and men, they had all seen the occasional headlines, but did he prefer one gender to the other? Did he like soft curves or hard angles? What was he into? 

“You’re not focusing Ron,” George snapped just then, grabbing the ladle his brother had been stirring an experimental liquid with, eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance. “Don’t help me with potion development if your head’s not with it, you’re gonna blow up the whole bloody street.”

Ron let out a small tired groan and leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze wander up to the wooden ceiling of the lab. The shapes of the tree’s growth rings looked like silhouettes of faces.

“Sorry, I just…” he started, before he shifted his eyes back to his brother who was studying him with one slightly raised brow. It felt awkward to explain to George what was bothering him. “Zabini was just asking about Luna and Katya, it annoyed me. I don’t want him to eye them up when they’re together with our siblings.”

George let out a small amused huff of air.

“Believe me, they’re not the one Blaise has his eye on,” he muttered. The uneasiness Ron had been feeling for the past hour grew ever so slightly. Had George met Blaise’s partner?

“You know him well then? If you know who he’s dating?” He asked. The older Weasley shook his head.

“I don’t know him that well, I don’t know about his love life, I’ve just observed… things,” he replied, heavy emphasis on the last word. George gave his brother a meaningful look, but Ron just grimaced uncomfortably. George sighed. ”Look, you don’t have to stress about him trying to get with Katya or Luna. And if you are interested in who Blaise is dating, just ask him.”

Ron blew a raspberry. As if. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. 6.40pm.

”I’m gonna head home, I’ll just grab my jacket first,” he grumbled, picking up his wand from the floor, pushing himself up as George waved his hand while already focusing on the cauldron again, like a pensive professor dismissing students at the end of class. Ron rolled his eyes affectionately as he made his way out of the door. George never concentrated on anything quite like he did on potion making.

Blaise was stood behind the till.

”See you tomorrow Zabini,” Ron said, avoiding looking straight at the tall, dark and handsome man as he rounded the till to grab his denim jacket, walking close enough to the Slytherin that he could smell the combination of rich aftershave and a natural warm, musky scent that couldn't be anything else than Blaise himself. Then Ron walked back towards the office. He just wanted to get home and bake his problems away. A lemon meringue pie, perhaps. He heard Zabini’s reply just as he was yanking the office door open, to floo himself back to his flat.

”See you tomorrow, Weasley.”

Ron glanced back, his gaze meeting coffee coloured eyes with specs of amber in them. He turned quickly around and walked through the partly open door, diving towards the fireplace and then green flames engulfed him.

Chapter Text

“Not this one.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

”I don’t like it.”

Blaise let out a heavy sigh, a dull headache starting to make its way from the back of his skull to his forehead. A bloody headache. What in the fresh hell was this? He never used to get headaches. Not before Ron Weasley, at least.

It had been four weeks from their initial first meeting, and Blaise and Ron had finally started scouting out the new location. They were going around Hogsmeade every other day, narrowing down their options. So far they’d spent most of the trips disagreeing on pretty much everything there was to disagree on, breaking off for lunch - Ron ate at home, Blaise ate out - and then continuing to disagree until one or both of them stormed off in a huff. A charming routine. Blaise was starting to suspect Ron was acting like this simply out of spite, and if he was completely honest, so was he. 

And if he was completely completely honest, it gave Blaise an odd thrill he had never felt before, arguing with the fiery redhead. Even if it made his brain feel too big to fit inside his skull.

Despite the constant bickering they had still managed to find quite a few potential places, and they were currently in the process of discussing them in the office at the Diagon Alley shop. George was in there with Blaise and Ron, but he’d stayed quiet for a while. He was more so silently observing the two others, while Lee had come over to help, taking care of the shop floor. They were closing soon, the clock was inching towards 7pm.

”I just don’t like it,” Ron repeated stubbornly, scrunching up his nose at a photograph in his hand. They were going through pictures they had taken of the exterior of the top contenders, trying to cut their options down to the best two or three. Blaise sighed and ran his hand over his buzzcut.

”What don’t you like about it?” He asked, for what felt like the billionth time. They needed to get somewhere with this.

”I just don’t,” the redhead retorted sharply. Blaise had to squeeze his eyes shut for a full five seconds to keep his calm. He let his tongue swipe over his lower lip. When he opened his eyelids he saw Ron staring at his mouth with an angry brow. 

”We can’t narrow these down if you can’t tell us what you like or don’t like about the locations,” the Slytherin slowly explained, even though he was well aware that the situation hardly warranted it. Ron knew this, they were hardy brewing Polyjuice Potion, were they? The Gryffindor shook his head as his gaze lifted to meet Blaise's.

”I trust my gut feeling, and this one,” Ron replied, grabbing the print they’d been looking at, one of the five high street locations, practically shoving it in the taller man’s face, ”ain’t it.” He then threw the photo to the side. Blaise sighed again.

”Our only yardstick cannot be your gut feeling, Weasley,” Blaise grumbled, starting to go through the rest of the prints again.

”Well it’s never betrayed me before,” the redhead refuted, his voice still full of that stubbornness Blaise was growing more than familiar with. He rubbed his temples.

”You’re purposely making this harder than it needs to be.”

Because it was true, Ron was being difficult on bloody purpose. He redhead scoffed loudly.

”Are you in a hurry? Trying to find the new location so that you can ditch us and move onto the next best thing?” The redhead challenged, crossing his arms in a huff but avoiding looking at the taller man. He seemed genuinely ticked off.

”I don’t intend to do anything of the kind,” the Slytherin said. He hadn’t discussed this with the Weasleys yet, but he wanted to focus his full energy on WWW for the time being. It would be beneficial both for him and the business. Initially he thought he might keep an eye out for any other potential business opportunities coming his way, but this first month at the shop was already proving to be a great chance to broaden his own horizon, sharpen his skills. Change things up a bit. It made sense. 

Right?

”Planning on sticking around, are you?” the redhead asked with a half amused half sardonic chuckle. Blaise nodded confidently. Ron’s smile dropped and morphed into a puzzled frown, he lifted his hand up to the back of his neck, tugging at the locks of hair there. ”You are?” the Gryffindor asked again.

Blaise nodded. ”I would like to be as involved with the new shop as possible, the preparations as well as the opening and running.”

George finally joined in on the conversation again, this time positively beaming.

”Great! You two can fully take over and sort out the Hogsmeade location once we have it, you’ve been handling it - eh, pretty well so far, while I keep running Diagon Alley!” He chirped, ”Although we might have to hire Lee full time to keep things smooth here.”

Blaise nodded, but he was eyeing Ron whose expression was nothing short of cynical.

”I thought you don’t actually work for the establishments you buy,” the redhead questioned him. Now it was Blaise's turn to scoff.

”Of course I work for my acquisitions,” he pointed out, like it was obvious. Because it was.

”No, I mean— I thought you’re just some decisions and money, you hardly spend your days scooping ice cream at Fortescue’s, do you? You don’t have to actually set things up with me, I’m more than capable of doing that on my own.” 

Ron’s gaze felt surprisingly scrutinising, as the two wizards stared each other down. Blaise wasn’t about to admit it to the redhead but he was making a valid point, the Slytherin hadn’t worked the floor of any other one of his businesses. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t work the floor of one of his businesses.

”I can be a silent partner if needed, but I would like to get involved this time.”

”Why?” Ron asked. Good Gods the man was relentless.

”Why not?” Blaise shot back. The redhead lifted a lazy eyebrow, a faint, provocative smirk on his lips.

”I asked first.”

”Stop being a stubborn prat,” Blaise growled through gritted teeth. He was starting to lose the last of his patience. Which happened more than he liked, when it came to Ron.

”Answer my question, why?” The redhead just continued to insist. There was a relatively tense pause before Blaise took a deep breath.

”WWW is my most profitable business and I think there’s a lot I can learn from it,” he finally replied, low and monotone. Ron held his head higher, lifting his chin up.

”By ‘it’ do you mean ‘you’? As in George and I?”

Blaise huffed again, crossing his arms across his torso, with his feet in a wide stance. Merlin, he hoped he looked authoritative.

”That’s hardly the point of what I was sayi—”

But Ron interjected.

”Admit it Zabini, you think there is a lot you can learn from us,” he said, walking up to Blaise to poke him in the chest as he said 'us'. The Slytherin wanted to grab Ron and pin him against the bloody wall, to keep him from being so fucking irksome.

”I have no problem admitting that WWW is a successful business,” Blaise replied, leaning forward to mirror Ron’s belligerent stance. The redhead narrowed his eyes as he shifted even closer to the taller man. There was that smell again, fresh rosemary and homemade pie. It seemed to shift slightly every day; apple, pumpkin, pecan, treacle tart…

Like a human every flavour bean. Just, every pie scented Ron.

”Not WWW, George and Ronald Weasley, you think there is a lot you can learn from George and Ronald Weasley,” the Gryffindor challenged, few unruly strands of hair falling over his eyes. Blaise stared at the lock of fiery redness, then the blue of the irises behind it. Like the fucking Tyrrhenian Sea.

”You are the most hardheaded man I have ever—”

But George walked up to the two wizards facing each other off, pushing them apart and standing in between.

“Can you both stop? Ron you need to quit antagonising Blaise,” he chastised.

Ron pointed a finger at the Slytherin over his brother’s shoulder.

”I’m not antagonising him on purpose, it’s not my fault if he gets antagonised by me.”

”I don’t think we’ll get much further with this today,” George sighed, pressing into the inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

The Slytherin nodded in agreement, walking to the office desk and sitting down, crossing his leg over the other, so that his right ankle was resting on his left knee. Breathe Blaise, just… Breathe. Be professional. Say something professional.

”Should we then perhaps discuss future plans past the new shop? As I very much plan to stick around.” The last part was heavily aimed at Ron. Blaise even felt a little childish, the way his head turned towards the redhead when he finished his sentence, as if a sharp look would prove his words.

George pushed his brother by his shoulders towards one of the other chairs in the room, planting his arse firmly on the hard seat. When he turned back towards Blaise he suddenly had a surprisingly mischievous twinkle in his eye, walking to stand across from where the Slytherin was sat, facing him. It seemed like a rather quick u-turn from the tangible frustration that had just been practically oozing out of the older Weasley.

Were all of the siblings susceptible to such unpredictable mood swings?

”We actually have something already,” he stated. Okay? Blaise rolled his wrist around in a circle once, leaving his hand hanging in the air as if to say well?

”Come on Ron, you tell him, it’s brilliant and it’s your idea, maybe you two can finally bond over shared business savviness,” George said, grinning from ear to ear. Blaise watched as the younger Weasley’s cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink. 

Ron cleared his throat to speak.

”We would like to start a new line of toys.”

Blaise waited for the younger Weasley to elaborate, but instead his ears just flushed the same pink that his cheeks were. Blaise cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s hardly a ground breaking concept, is it? We come out with new lines or updated ones at least every other quarter.” Duh.

“We haven’t— uh, had these kind of toys before,” Ron said, lifting his hand to the back of his neck again, fingers pulling at the strands of hair the second time that day. Blaise was starting to realise the redhead tended to do so if he was stressed or anxious. Like a nervous tick. Some might find it endearing.

Not necessarily Blaise, but some.

Ron hesitated for another moment before he finally got to the point.

”Adult toys.”

Blaise froze.

Oh.

Oh.

George’s smile still hadn’t faltered a bit.

”It’s actually brilliant, Ron has been sketching quite a few prototypes—”

The younger brother let out an embarrassed squeak.

”We’ve been sketching prototypes!”

”Please Ronniekins, it’s been 90% you, as the token single Weasley sibling you’ve been getting a lot more creative on how to get yourself off than the rest of us just doing the same old boring horizontal tango night after night,” George said, his words full of mirth.

The Slytherin’s mind was instantly flooded with vivid images. Ron, coming up with different ways to pleasure himself. Ron with nipple clamps firmly squeezing the wonderfully pink nubs. Ron with his eyes covered by a blindfold, hands restrained behind his back with bondage cuffs. Ron with a cock ring squeezing the base of his pulsing dick. Ron wearing a chastity cage. Ron with a dildo that had been charmed to move, fucking him slow and deep and goo—

Blaise was snapped out of his spiralling thoughts by George’s mischievous voice.

”I’m only getting a rise out of you, me and Harry have a wonderfully adventurous sex life, the man knows how to fuck me six ways to Sunday,” he said, now standing beside Ron, poking him in the ribs. The younger brother let out a small squeal, pushing at the other Weasley. When had George moved over there? Wasn’t he just standing here on the other side near Blaise?

”Keep you and Harry’s sex life out of this,” Ron said, grabbing his brother’s hands as George kept trying to jab his side, wrestling them away.

“Ron even has a name for the line,” George said, ignoring the younger wizard, a big smirk splitting his face. Blaise swallowed. His mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

“What is it?” He asked, half scared of hearing the answer.

“Wicked, wet and wild,” Ron said, the words coming out a tad more quiet and timid than usual, like he was unsure of himself.

Blaise shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his trousers without the brothers noticing.

“What do you think?” Ron asked, sounding tentative.

You really don’t need to know what I am thinking.

“Actually, I think that it’s rather brilliant,” Blaise started, gaze meeting Ron’s blue eyes, ”this has a lot of potential, and the target audience is new, so instead of getting existing customers to buy more, we could expand our client base. It’s really good.”

Weasley’s face was flooded with relief and kind of quiet assurance. Blaise was surprised to realise that it felt good to be able to instil those feelings in the redhead. Really good. George patted Blaise on his shoulder. Somehow he had made his way back to that side of the room again.

”Look at you, two enemies, united in the face of sex toys! How lovely,” he quipped with a little chuckle.

The mental snapshot of being united with Ron by a sex toy made Blaise try to swallow again with little success. He cleared his throat instead, as quietly as he could.

Ron got up then and started waking towards Blaise, unknowingly instilling a moment of panic in the taller man, until he realised that the redhead was coming over to the desk. He squatted down in front of the side cabinet, opening the top drawer, rummaging through it. The Gryffindor was close enough for Blaise to smell that mouthwatering, quintessentially Ron scent again. At least his salivary glands started finally working. Must’ve been the sweetness, that bakery quality, that made him want to drool.

”I can show you some of the sketches we have,” Ron said, pulling out a lavender coloured ring binder, holding it out to Blaise.

”Oh,” the Slytherin replied, staring at the folder. It took him a full five seconds to realise Ron wanted him to grab it. ”Yes that would be,” he said, rather slowly, as he reached for the binder, ”nice.”

Ron handed over the file of documents and Blaise started flipping through the pages. The drawings did not help with the current situation in his already snug trousers.

Self lubricating dildo… erection potion… every flavour lube… pulsing butt plug… potential ideas for full BDSM line: thought controllable restraints, hot and cold nipple clamps, pourable bottled latex outfits…

”They’re pretty heavy on— uh, male on male type of products, because I only have sex with men,” that gorgeous blush dusted across Ron’s face only darkened as he avoided looking at the Slytherin. Blaise realised he on the other hand was openly staring at the redhead. ”But I was thinking we could ask Pansy to consult on women on women sex, and now that we have you on board, you know, if you have any ideas about… well, anything, women or men, they’re— they’re welcome.”

Oh, Blaise had some ideas.

”That sounds— good,” he muttered, voice coming out a husky grunt.

”We wanna do all the classic stuff as well, you know, vibrators and cocksleeves and all that jazz, be the first non-muggle brand to do it all,” George added, finally with a relatively neutral expression, smirks and grins gone for now. Blaise didn’t trust his thoughts and mouth to co-operate in the way he wanted, so instead he just nodded. The three men sat in silence for what must have been a solid thirty seconds.

“Well, this has been marvelously awkward. I’m gonna help Lee close and then head home to make sweet sweet love to my boyfriend,” George finally jested as he exited the room, leaving Ron and Blaise by themselves. Blaise didn’t want to get out of the chair, he was worried the front of his trousers wouldn’t look… exactly normal. Ron just shuffled on his feet awkwardly.

”Right, well, I’m just gonna… I think I’ll help close and go home, too.”

Blaise nodded. He let his eyes follow Ron as the redhead walked to the door leading to the shop floor, desperately trying to keep his eyes above Ron’s waist and not look at his arse. The Gryffindor hesitated as he grabbed the doorknob, seemingly staring at his own hand before he turned hastily back towards Blaise.

Eyes above the waist, I have to keep my eyes above his waist. Fuck.

”You can— you can keep that, I have copies of the sketches, so…” the redhead trailed off, hand still on the doorknob, unsure eyes glancing at the Slytherin.

Blaise nodded again. ”Thanks.”

Then Ron disappeared through the door.

Sweet Salazar, Blaise knew he definitely was the kind of wizard who appreciated a beautiful man or woman when he came across one, but he had always been able to keep his… passions in complete check in professional settings. He may have had a certain kind of reputation in wizarding London’s nightlife, but he didn’t pop boners at work, for fuck’s sake. But then again, he had never worked with anything even remotely related to sex toys before, so it did kind of make sense that he got all hot and bothered about the situation at hand.

Yes, that surely was it, he was caught off guard by the sex toy thing. Anyone would get flustered.

Like Ron had been, when he presented the idea.

With that luscious, rosy blush that spread from the apples of his cheeks, making Blaise wonder what other parts of him might turn that lovely shade of red given the chance…

The Slytherin shook his head like a dog shaking off water after a swim. Blaise needed a swim, in an ice cold plunge pool preferably. Fucking hell, just, pull yourself together Zabini.

He placed the lavender binder in his briefcase. He wasn't sure what else to do with it. Burn the sketches, or frame? Maybe it was safest just to... Keep them in his briefcase, for now.

He waited another 15 minutes in the office before he joined the two Weasleys and Lee on the shop floor. He made sure he left before George and Lee, so that he wouldn’t be alone with Ron again. He apparated three blocks away from his apartment, and walked the rest of the way home. He could use the night breeze.

Chapter Text

It was early on a Tuesday, and Ron and Zabini had narrowed their search of the new location down to a final three options. They were going to head out again today, but had agreed to meet at Diagon Alley first to discuss if they wanted to specifically focus on one of the properties. Two were on the High Street and one just off it. Ron had just about gotten over the excitement and embarrassment of having had to pitch his wicked, wet and wild line to Blaise. But it had gone pretty much as well as possible, so the redhead was genuinely proud of himself, and confident enough in his business instincts now to take a stand for them.

”The High Street is always the safest bet,” the Slytherin said to him, as the two stood by the till, trying to figure out the top contender. Ron made a little sound signifying his disagreement, between a groan and a sigh.

”But our main target group is Hogwarts students and they won’t care if we’re on the main street or not, they’ll come to us anyway,” he stated, turning around to swipe through some of the files on the desk, looking for their marketing plan that contained some research statistics about their clientele. ”So my favourite is still the corner building on Woodcroft Crescent, it’s close enough, the space is better, and we’d have the alleyway next to us, with the big bins. Plus the pubs around that area might draw in an older crowd, imagine how much they spend if they come in to have a look after a few pints.”

When Blaise didn’t answer Ron looked up at the man in question, who was now watching him, a satisfied grin splitting his face. The redhead’s stomach fluttered.

”What?” He asked harshly, furrowing his eyebrows. It was almost like an automated defence when Ron felt like he was being scrutinised. Blaise shook his head nonchalantly.

”Nothing, just glad to see you’re finally taking this seriously,” he said, almost pompously. Arrogant bastard. ”Regardless, let’s go see all three again. I’m sure that after today we know which one is the right one for us.”

Ron nodded, grabbing his jacket from the hatstand. It had been a windy morning for July, and he probably needed the extra layer.

”Do you want to come with us George?” Blaise asked then, just as the Gryffindor started to turn back around. He had completely forgotten his brother was in the shop with them. George walked out from between two shelves, carrying a box with products he had been restocking.

”Nah, I trust you two,” he said with a casual wave of hand, then turned to face the Slytherin. ”By the way Blaise, Harry and I are having a small party on Saturday, we would love it if you could join us!”

Ron snapped his head up, watching Blaise’s expression morph from a caught off guard stare to a rather pleased - although slightly confused - smile.

”Thank you George, I’ll make sure to be there,” he replied, gladly accepting the invite. ”Weasley, can we go by the post office first? I need to send an owl, we can floo in from the Diagon Alley station. I’ll just grab the camera and my jacket from the office and I’ll be ready to go,” he said, not even waiting for an answer, and then turned to fetch his overcoat.

Eurgh. Why did Blaise have to insert himself into every aspect of Ron’s life? They were already together from basically dusk to dawn, Monday to Friday, and his family all seemed to adore the man. Now they would start spending weekends together as well? Something confusing stirred in his chest.

“Did you have to invite him?” Ron asked his George, as soon as Blaise had gone through the office door.

”Yes, because he’s lovely. And besides, Harry wants to meet him,” his brother deadpanned, seeming already bored of the conversation as he put down the box and grabbed a list on the table by the till, marking down the shelves he had restocked. Ron started softly kicking the leg of the chair behind the till, pursing his lips.

”So now he’s gonna steal my best friend as well?” He asked, painfully aware of just how silly his half rhetorical question was.

”No one is stealing anything Ronnie, stop being childish,” George answered anyway, just as stolid.

”I already spend most work days with him, it’s not too much to ask to not have to see him on the weekends as well,” Ron grumbled while his eyes were cast down at where he was still kicking the chair.

“Can you two just fucking try to get on,” George said sharply, lifting his now annoyed gaze from the list to his brother, then lowered his voice drastically and added as if to himself, “emphasis on the fucking.” 

He said it so quietly Ron barely caught the sly comment. But he did catch it.

“What the hell does that mean?” He snapped, feet stilling.

George sighed. “Nothing, absolutely nothing brother dear, you two should get going now,” he said, then stopped and looked around the desk. ”Actually, wait a second.”

He walked around to where Ron was standing, moving around some papers on the desk, opening the drawers around him until he found what he was looking for, letting out a small a-ha! as he pulled something out from between a bunch of documents. 

“Here,” his brother said, extending his arm to offer Ron what looked like a piece of shiny paper.

“What’s this?” He asked, grabbing the slip.

“A voucher for lunch,” George explained. The younger Weasley let his eyes roam over the coupon. It was to Madam Puddifoot’s café and bistro. The teashop had been rebranded after the war as a lunch restaurant.

“I can just eat lunch at home.” Ron said, trying to give the voucher back to his brother. He always ate lunch at home when he was in Hogsmeade, George knew this.

“It’s for two, you and Blaise can have a working lunch,” The older wizard pointed out, “take it, the expiry date is a week away, it’ll go to waste otherwise.” Ron kept on trying to shove it back into his brother’s grasp, who now lifted his hands up in the air with open alms to avoid grabbing the slip back. ”Just take it, Ron.”

The younger redhead huffed loudly, hesitating for a second. But then the office door opened again and Blaise came walking back with his jacket on. Ron stuffed the voucher quickly into his jeans’ pocket. He didn’t want Blaise to see it, somehow the coupon felt nearly illicit, dirty at least. Kind of like a bribe. He hoped his cheeks had stayed their natural, sickly pale colour.

”Right, shall we?” Blaise asked, looking between both brothers. Ron felt weirdly guilty as he nodded and mumbled a goodbye to George. Then the two were off, heading towards Diagon Alley post office.

”Who are you owling anyway?” the Gryffindor queried, as the duo approached the building in question. He glanced at Blaise, who was walking forward in long strides, with a stony expression.

”My mother,” the taller man replied after an elongated pause.

”Ah,” Ron said, ”that’s nice.” The conversation died before it really started.

It took Zabini a few minutes to send his owl. Ron waited outside, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the voucher feeling heavy in his pocket. Would it be weird if he actually proposed a shared work lunch? Would one meal be that bad? It would be a work thing, after all. One work meal would be fine, right? Blaise wouldn’t find it - or worse, him - weird or anything like that. Surely he wouldn’t. Would he?

Once Zabini finished the two wizards walked to the floo station in silence, stepping into separate fireplaces as they threw the floo powder, reappearing at Hogsmeade. And off the pair went.

They spent the morning comparing and inspecting the three locations, but Ron’s heart was still set on the one on Woodcroft Crescent. There was just something about it that called to him. They were stood in front of the property, Ron was taking photos when the Slytherin glanced at his watch.

”Right, let’s continue after lunch, should we meet up back here at around 1.30?” Blaise asked. Because that’s what they always did, since day one. Ron went home to eat the lunch he had prepared and Blaise ate out, and then they reconvened.

The redhead didn’t know how to bring up the voucher, he didn’t want to ask Blaise out for lunch. Why am I so fucking awkward? When Ron didn’t reply the Slytherin must have taken it as a sign of agreement, because he turned around and started walking.

”Zabini,” the Gryffindor chocked out, effectively stopping the taller man in his tracks. He turned around to face Ron.

”Yes?”

”George gave me this,” Ron said, clammy hands grabbing the lightly crumpled coupon and stretching his hand out. Blaise started walking back towards him.

”What is it?” Zabini asked.

”Lunch voucher,” the Gryffindor explained, ”George said we should have a— a working lunch.”

Blaise took the ticket from him, examining it carefully.

“Puddifoot’s? Isn’t that the bright pink teashop?” The Slytherin asked, subconsciously scrunching up his nose in distaste.

”They do food nowadays, I’ve heard it’s pretty decent,” Ron said, tugging at his neck hair. Good gods this is horrible.

”Hmmh,” Blaise only grunted as he continued to stare at the voucher.

”A free lunch though!” Even the redhead himself thought he sounded atypically perky. The Slytherin turned the slip around, continuing to inspect its contents.

”We are more than capable of paying for our lunch,” he finally said as he looked back up. Ron felt his face flush red from embarrassment.

“Yeah, I know, I just—“ he faltered with his words, “growing up poor you kind of…” the Gryffindor trailed off, staring intently at the ground as he crossed his arms self consciously across his stomach, “you learn to appreciate free things.”

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Maybe if Ron stared at the ground hard enough it would swallow him whole.

“No you’re right, you’re completely right,” Blaise said hurriedly, his voice suddenly having a very sincere quality to it. The redhead slowly lifted his gaze to meet the other pair of eyes. Coffee coloured with specks of gold and oh so gentle looking. “The only thing better than lunch is a free lunch,” the Slytherin added.

Then he smiled. A very genuine, belly warmth inducing smile. Ron couldn’t take his eyes off Blaise’s mouth until it started moving again.

”Let’s go get lunch.”

The two men walked in silence again, heading towards the end of the High Street where Madam Puddifoot’s was. Ron wondered if they’d ever learn to make polite conversation with each other. The constant awkward silences were a lot to deal with. He glanced at Blaise as they approached the shockingly pink exterior of the bistro. The taller wizard looked somewhat apprehensive. 

The look didn’t fade as they stepped into the equally pink interior of the café.

”Well isn’t this… frilly,” Blaise said, looking around sceptically. Or was that amusement in his tone?

”I think it used to be worse,” the redhead said, lettings his eyes sweep across the room, ”now that they make food it’s not as bad as when it was just a teashop. It’s less pink.”

Blaise let out a very un-Slytherin-like snort.

”I don’t know, still seems pretty damn pink to me,” he said, but a ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. It made Ron want to grin too. They chose one of the empty tables by the window, while a waiter brought over menus and some water.

They sat together quietly, looking at the lunch options. Ron decided on a spinach and feta quiche while Blaise ordered a BLT sandwich and chips. The waiter gazed curiously between the two wizards before he nodded and walked away. The two men were left alone in another silence.

Until Blaise cleared his throat.

”Are you coming to the party on Saturday?” He asked. The redhead couldn’t help a small jocose hum rattling in his throat.

”Well, it’s hosted by my best mate and my brother, so yeah, I’ll probably show up,” he quipped with a teeth baring grin.

Blaise disregarded the flippant sarcasm.

“How did Potter and George end up together anyway?” He asked instead.

Ron shrugged.

“I don’t know, they fancied each other I guess,” he replied, tilting his head to the side and looking out of the window.

“Obviously,” Blaise said, his tone clearly vexed now. It made the corners of Ron’s mouth tug back further upwards. He took great pleasure in being able to push all of Zabini’s buttons.

“Don’t be a bitch,” he said smugly, trying to suppress the full blown smirk threatening to break out now. Blaise gave him a scandalised look.

“I am not a bitch!”

Ron ignored him, and instead studied the other wizard carefully. He was quietly assessing if he should just lie and make up a nice, heartwarming story about cute realisations of eternal, buried feelings, or just tell him the truth.

Guess if the Slytherin was their business partner now, he deserved the truth.

“George changed a lot, after the war. When Fred passed away he didn’t just lose Fred, he lost half of himself,” he started, looking out of the window again, fixing his eyes on a bench on the street opposite of the bistro. “It’s like, he’s George but he’s not, you know? There was a George before Fred died, and there’s a different George now after. He’s not necessarily worse, he’s just— not the same anymore.”

Blaise stayed quiet. Ron was thankful for it.

“There’s parts of him that stayed the same, but he’s a lot more…” the redhead glanced at Blaise’s face as he searched for the right word, “I dunno, he can be a lot more grave I guess? He has this melancholy in him that didn’t exist before. He still jokes around, he has a silly twinkle in his eye most of the time and he turns it on in front of people, but sometimes I catch him just standing and staring and it’s like he’s frozen, or drowning or something. That’s what he was like the whole first year. Back then I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d make it, to be honest.”

Ron felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, so he paused, taking deep breaths until his vision cleared again.

“And Harry, he’s lost so much, his parents, his godfathers, his mentors, his friends,” the Gryffindor said, even though he felt like that was rather self explanatory. Everyone knew the sacrifices that Harry had been forced to make. Harry fucking died, for fuck’s sake. Ron was startled out of his thoughts by Blaise’s voice. It held an unexpected softness to it.

“But you lost people as well, it’s not just them. You lost friends, you lost a brother, maybe not a twin but Fred was your brother too,” he said.

Ron smiled at Blaise. It wasn’t often people told him that.

“Thanks.”

They fell into a silence, but finally a comfortable one. The redhead stared at his hands in his lap so intently he started feeling like they were swelling up. It must’ve been a full minute before he spoke again.

“I think that’s why they’re so good together, George and Harry. They’ve both lost a lot, probably more than anyone else, but they’re helping to fix each other.”

”That does make sense,” Blaise said.

”Yeah.”

”They do seem to be very good together, from what I’ve heard,” he continued.

The Gryffindor just smiled in response. 

“What about you?”

Ron’s eyes snapped back up, quicker than ever. Blaise looked oddly shocked at his own question.

“What about me?”

”Are you— erm, dating, anyone?” The Slytherin asked, as the air around them somehow turned thicker, more cumbersome again.

It took everything in Ron to act casual, but he was certain the tips of his ears had already forsaken him with their redness.

”I’m pretty sure you would’ve read about it in the Prophet if I was,” he half muttered, partly swallowing his words. A lopsided smile cracked onto the taller man's face, and just like that the awkwardness was gone.

”Planning on making a grand public announcement when you find the one?” Blaise asked, tone and lilt of his voice light and teasing. Ron narrowed his eyes while his lips curled into a sneer. He didn’t like it when the Slytherin managed to push his buttons. Not one bit.

”No you dickhead, I mean they don’t fucking leave me alone, and you seem to believe everything they write about me anyways,” he grumbled, crossing his arms across his stomach.

”Where did you get that impression from?” Blaise asked, clearly greatly amused by their conversation.

“That’s what you said, that I’m galvanic, remember?” Ron snapped back.

“Oh that was a joke, don’t be so thin skinned,” the Slytherin said, voice that bit louder as he tried to - unsuccessfully - suppress a small snicker. The redhead gasped at the allegation.

“I am not thin skinned!”

”You’re not doing yourself any favours if you’re trying to not seem galvanic right now,” Blaise all but accused, even if lightheartedly. Ron wanted to really lose it, hex the other man into oblivion for being so fucking irritating, but he knew it would just prove the Slytherin’s stupid - and, may he add, inaccurate - point. So he leaned back in his chair instead.

”Well my personal life isn’t any of your business,” he huffed, ”way to ruin a civil moment, Zabini.”

”I’m not the defensive one,” the Slytherin replied, and that stupid smirk just wouldn’t leave Blaise’s stupid face.

”What the hell are you smiling about?” Ron demanded hotly, gesturing at the taller man’s head with a wave of his hand.

”You're quite funny when you pout,” Blaise practically goaded.

”I do not pout!”

Ron folded his arms again and stared at the cackling wizard sat across from him with his eyes narrowed into slits, until their food arrived a minute later. He was now partly annoyed at himself for letting his temper get the best of him and losing the perfect opportunity to find out if Zabini was seeing anyone.

”Do you ever wear anything that’s not a suit?” He asked instead. Blaise stopped his hand midair, a chip halfway to his mouth.

”Of course.”

”But you never do,” Ron pointed out. He hadn’t seen the Slytherin wear anything else except dark two or three piece suits, well, since school. Not that he didn’t look good in them, because Gods know he certainly did, but it was just awfully formal.

”I do, I just always wear a suit at work,” Blaise replied, like it was obvious. Which it probably was, to him.

”Yeah but we’re a joke shop, it’s not like you work at the Ministry.” They sold farts and swamps in exploding jars, for goodness’ sake.

”It’s still work.”

That made the redhead scoff. A Nundu can’t change its spots; once an aristocratic Slytherin, always an aristocratic Slytherin.

”Yeah, well, I think you’re too uptight,” Ron finally said, grabbing his fork and poking at his quiche. Blaise popped the chip he had been holding into his mouth and chewed, staring at the redhead with amused curiosity.

”And I think you love being a menace,” he countered.

”I’m not a menace,” Ron mumbled, spearing a cherry tomato and eating it slowly. The other man chuckled.

“And I’m not too uptight.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree then.”

“Well that is what we do best, isn’t it,” Blaise said with a cheeky grin lighting up his features.

Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Shut up and eat your free lunch.”

That big gloating smile stayed on Blaise’s stupid, handsome face as he dug into his sandwich. Ron slashed his quiche angrily with his fork, breaking it into pieces before he started eating as well.

Stupid tall Slytherins.

Chapter Text

It was the Saturday of George and Harry’s party, and Blaise was having a beer with Draco before heading over to Islington. They were sat at their favourite regular early evening bar, the Fig Tree, already on their second drinks. Both were nursing a pint of stout, the dark liquid gliding down rather easily. The beer was just as rich and smooth as the men drinking it.

Draco was still wearing his work suit as he often had business meetings over the weekends, but Blaise had changed into something more casual than his usual get up. He was wearing a white simple button down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with dark green trousers, so dark green that they nearly looked black, but when light hit the fabric it glistened in a deep emerald colour. It was about as informal as he ever dressed.

The two wizards were deep in discussion about work. Draco had just finished complaining about a new, spectacularly difficult French business associate. The blond had ended up working in finance, both in England as well as mainland Europe. His current project in Paris seemed to be particularly laborious.

“Anyway, I recon he’ll be out by the end of the year, if not the end of summer,” Draco said, raising his pint in a mock salute. Blaise clinked their glasses together, chuckling lowly at his friend’s theatrics. The other Slytherin had always had a flair for drama. Some might even say it was a house trait, but Blaise would deny that vehemently. Far be it from him.

”What about you? What’s new at WWW?” The blond asked, leaning back into his armchair as he took a sip of his drink, eyes settling comfortably on Blaise.

”We’ve chosen the new location, finally,” he replied and mirrored his friend, swallowing a big mouthful of the stout as well.

”Yeah? Congratulations!” Draco encouraged with a smile, clinking their glasses together again, but this time with genuine celebration.

”It was hard enough, Weasley bloody loves to complain about every little thing.”

“I can imagine,” the blond snorted.

“He’s a stubborn one," Blaise added with a little chuckle. Ron's hardheadedness had already been rather legendary at Hogwarts.

Draco didn’t reply, just quietly observed the man sat across from him. The blond’s eyes narrowed for a millisecond, before a pleasant smile took over his face, as if he decided to dismiss whatever thought had crossed his mind.

”Will it be a long set up?” He asked instead. Blaise shook his head.

”The space doesn’t require a lot of changes and we have enough stock, so shouldn’t be more than a few months until we’re fully up and running, max.”

Draco nodded in approval.

”And then what? Do you already have a vision for what might be your next project? Or will you start scouting sometime soon? Can take quite a while to find something feasible,” the blond pointed out. ”I’ve heard muggles are getting very into something called compututors, or whatever it was. Might be worth looking into.”

Blaise shook his head again.

”I don’t think I will scout anything, I already have the four—”

He was cut off by his friend.

”The other three basically run themselves, and it doesn’t seem like WWW needs that much help to keep things going smoothly either,” Draco said with a raised brow. The dark skinned Slytherin shrugged. The businesses he had bought into were surely enough to keep him busy as it was.

”I think I might stick with four for now.”

”Okay,” the blond drawled, lengthening the vowels, which made the simple word sound rather skeptical. ”What will you do with all the free time then?”

”I was actually planning on running the shop in Hogsmeade for a while,” Blaise said, sitting up straighter in his seat. ”I might not be there every day but you know, every other day, twice a week. Do the daily work, learn from it. Take my time before I stick my fingers into more pies.”

”You’ll work the shop floor?” Draco asked, his tone going from cynical to incredulous, as his eyes flickered over his friend’s face, as if waiting for the moment he’d crack and scream got ya!

But Blaise just nodded.

”You? Blaise Zabini?” 

”Yes.”

Now Draco really did narrow his storm grey eyes. The gaze felt stripping, like the blond could see straight through him with x-ray vision. Blaise shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

”What’s so different about this one?” Draco finally questioned, after a torturously stretched and scrutinising silence. The taller man let out a puff of air that he hoped would demonstrate just how incredibly nonchalant he felt about everything WWW related. So nonchalant.

”What do you mean?” He asked, studying his fingernails in a bored manner.

”You’ve never been like this, you’ve never wanted to be so hands on with one of your acquisitions before, especially if it doesn’t include reassessing the business model or conducting job interviews,” Draco said, the steel in his gaze only sharpening. ”They basically need money, not another sales clerk.”

“It is a lucrative business, and believe it or not it’s been run exceptionally well from the beginning. I think this is an opportunity to expand my skills.”

The blond hummed, the soft sound resonating in his mouth.

“No other reason?”

Blaise folded his arms defensively. “What are you getting at?” He quizzed. Draco leaned forwards in his armchair, his elbows on his wide spread knees.

“No other - oh, I dunno - perhaps ginger reason why you might be above average interested?”

Now it was Blaise’s turn to narrow his eyes.

“What the hell are you suggesting?” He challenged, even though he was almost painfully aware of the direction the conversation was about to take.

“I’m just saying, Ron Weasley is a rather beautiful specimen nowadays, isn’t he?” Draco said, a little smirk creeping onto his lips, curving the corners of his mouth evilly. ”All lithe limbs and fair skin, I’ve heard.”

"From who?" Blaise demanded without thinking. He realised the slip up when the blond's eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. The dark skinned Slytherin then scoffed loudly, before the other wizard managed to make any more assumptions.

“Please Draco, I’ve employed other beautiful people before.”

“So you admit it?” the blond asked, giving his best friend a pointed look, his devilish grin only widening.

“Admit what?”

“That he’s beautiful.”

Blaise felt his cheeks heat up.

Fuck.

“No, I— those were your words!” He exclaimed rather desperately.

“But you said you’ve employed other beautiful people before, insinuating that you’re also currently employing one now,” Draco replied, behaving like turning his friend's word against himself was the greatest trick Merlin ever pulled. Which it wasn't, and to be honest Blaise wasn't exactly sure why he was getting this worked up about it.

“Purely objectively speaking, yes, Ron Weasley looks nice. But I’ve always had nice looking people working for me, and it’s never been an issue, nor a thought I would entertain,” he countered with an angry scowl, hoping to Gods he sounded calm and convincing.

Draco kept staring at him. It was making Blaise squirm in his seat, like a fucking flobberworm. He could only pray he wouldn’t start sweating like one, too.

“First of all, my reputation is everything for me, I would never compromise it for a shag,” he started, stressing each word, to highlight just how serious he was. But the blond just kept looking at him with that smug fucking self-serving smirk on his face. “Draco you know I don’t sleep with colleagues or employees.”

“I’m not saying anything,” the other Slytherin quipped, lifting his hands in the air in feigned innocence. There was nothing innocent about Blaise's prick of a best friend.

“You don’t have to, I know what you’re suggesting!” the dark skinned wizard sneered, not only annoyed by the accusations now, but also Draco's mock ignorance. 

“No need to get so defensive about it,” the blond ribbed back. A low growl made its way out of the taller man’s mouth. He knew Draco was just trying to provoke him, he was trying to coach out a reaction, a confession of some kind, but the blond was going to be sorely mistaken if the thought Blaise harboured some kind of secret wishes or feelings.

”It would be idiotic of me to get involved with the brother of the owner of the company I bought into,” Blaise pointed out, because there were multiple excellent points to be made about why he couldn— wouldn’t, did not want to, get with Ronald Weasley.

“It would,” Draco agreed with a smirk.

“Secondly, I don’t date, a romantic connection isn’t my priority right now, I want to focus on my work,” Blaise continued, grabbing his pint and chugging back a big mouthful before he place the glass back down. He needed to be more drunk if this conversation was going to go on for much longer. Draco’s shit eating grin got wider than ever, spreading across his face like a disease.

“Who said anything about romance?”

His tone was so fucking condescending. Blaise could feel the heat from his cheeks spread down his neck to his chest, even his fingertips felt warm.

“You did!”

“I did no such thing!”

”You insinuated it.”

The blond arsehole was doing nothing but. Draco took another sip of his drink. Not much was left.

“You just keep convincing yourself Blaise.”

“I don’t need to prove myself to you,” the dark skinned Slytherin grumbled, crossing his arms and grabbing his pint glass again so that his hands would have something to do, and not just fidget and twitch in his lap. The beer wasn’t very cold anymore.

“Tell me, when’s the last time you slept with someone?” Draco asked suddenly, catching Blaise off guard. He blinked, confused.

”Pardon? What does that have to do with anything?” He asked. The blond rolled his eyes in a rather melodramatic fashion.

”Just humour me.”

Blaise furrowed his brow as he started to think about the answer to Draco’s question. When did he last get laid?

”It wasn’t that long ago, I think it— it must’ve been— it was…”

The blond wizard interrupted his out-loud pondering.

”It was my birthday, wasn’t it? When you went home with that pretty little brunette with the nose piercing?”

Oh yeah. Taylor, was it?

”I think that’s right,” he confirmed.

”Six weeks, Blaise,” Draco said very pointedly.

”So? Six weeks is not that long,” he rebutted. Six weeks was a perfectly ordinary time not to hook up with anyone. The blond gave Blaise an exasperated look, as if to say are you fucking serious?

”When have you last gone a month and a half without sex? When we were 19?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, with an air of haughtiness only a Malfoy could muster. Blaise scoffed.

”I’ve just bought into WWW, we’ve been scouting out the new location—”

”Yeah?” Draco interrupted him, with yet another rather obnoxious smirk. ”Too busy gallavanting around Hogsmeade with Weasley to sleep with anyone?”

“I do not gallavant,” the taller wizard growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

Draco snorted a laugh. ”Whatever,” he said, lifting his drink to his lips, tipping his head back and downing the rest. Then he lifted his watchful eyes to meet Blaise’s defensive ones. ”After all these years being best friends and you still think I don’t know you like my own pockets.”

Blaise followed Draco’s example and finished the rest of his drink. He slammed the glass on the table rather loudly, more heavy-handed than he intended. He got up out of his seat and straightened his clothes from imaginary wrinkles.

”I need to get going, George and Potter are hosting a party and I’ve been invited,” he said to his friend, who leaned back in the armchair.

”Wow, things really have changed, you’re ditching me for Harry Potter? You wound me Blaise.”

”That’s not— George is my business partner, this is essentially a courtesy call,” he huffed. Draco knew the importance of treating associates well.

”Give my best to Weasley,” he blond beamed wickedly. It was the last straw, truly his final affront.

”I am not going to this party because of Ronald Weasley!” Blaise snapped, a lot more irate and loud than intended.

”I meant George, Blaise, give my best to George Weasley, it’s his party isn’t it?”

Draco’s smirk was borderline unbearable.

Smug bastard.

”Will do,” Blaise grunted. He grabbed his jacket and the bottle of white wine that he had brought with him - he wasn’t sure if it was a bring-your-own-booze kind of bash, but he wouldn’t be caught dead arriving empty handed to a party - before he gave his best friend the two finger salute as he left, heading out. He swore he heard Draco laughing as the door closed behind him.

The Slytherin took a couple of calming breaths as soon as he got into the fresh air. Provocation was a Malfoy trait that he usually didn't fall for this easy. It was just... a sensitive topic. With business partners and such.

Right. Party, Islington. Time to head.

Harry and George lived at number 12 Grimmauld Place, which Harry had inherited from Sirius Black after he died. Blaise was surprised Potter had decided to stay there, instead of just selling the house - it probably held many complicated memories - although he was sure that it looked very different to what used to be. He was excited to see the place. It was basically a part of wizarding history.

Blaise slipped into one of the alleyways beside the pub, turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack, reappearing at another alleyway on the other side of London. Blaise had obviously never been to Harry and George’s actual house before, but he had been to Islington enough times to be able to apparate there and then walk the rest of the way according to the instructions George had given him. It only took him a few minutes to find the right street, and make his way dow to number 12. Blaise knew the building had been protected by the Fidelius charm during the war, but it wasn’t anymore. Just an ordinary looking house in an ordinary looking muggle neighbourhood. The Slytherin rang the bell and the door opened within seconds.

”Blaise! Welcome! Come on in, please, I’ll take your coat,” George greeted as he welcomed the Slytherin, immediately grabbing the jacket Blaise was carrying off him.

”Thank you,” he replied, ”and thank you for inviting me.”

”The front room is that way,” George said, pointing down the hallway, as he hung the piece of clothing on the rack beside the door. ”I was on my way to the gents actually, I’ll be just a whiz!” he said, disappearing into the bathroom beside them. The Slytherin started making his way down the hall, towards the lively chatter coming from the living room.

The space was a lot more softly coloured and well lit than Blaise had expected for a Black ancestral home. Pureblood houses in general seemed to always be rather… gloomy, dim. Depressing. This was none of those things. It also seemed like Harry and George had gotten rid of doors and dividing walls, the layout was more like an open floor plan. It was a lovely, cozy home.

The first people Blaise saw were Luna and Ginny. The youngest Weasley was sat on the seat closest to the opening of the hallway, with her wife in her lap, arms tightly wound around the blonde’s waist, gently stroking Luna’s dress which was dark blue with sparkling stars scattered everywhere on the fabric. It clearly held beautifully implemented magic. He greeted the witches with hellos and cheek kisses.

”You look lovely Blaise,” the blonde remarked, smiling brightly at the Slytherin.

“Thank you, so do you both. Your dress is beautiful, very you, Luna,” he responded, as the twinkling stars started to shift and move around. The witch in question beamed.

”Thank you, I made it myself!” she quipped, looking positively delighted, even if her eyes were still half lidded.

”I’m impressed, Lovegood,” Blaise praised, gesturing at the moving clusters of light and gave her a small, playful bow. To his surprise Luna gave him a rather deep bow back. Ginny grinned fondly behind her wife.

”Tonight is a full buck moon, in cancer,” Luna said as she got upright, starting to weave her fingers through Ginny’s auburn hair.

”So it is,” Blaise replied, not entirely sure what else he really could say. The blonde witch nodded at him. ”I hope you left a jar out to make moonwater, I believe you might need some soon,” Luna counselled rather mysteriously.

”I— I didn’t, actually,” Blaise retorted, while he tried to figure out what the hell moonwater was. Probably had something to do with the… moose moon? What was it, bull moon? And why did the moon have cancer? Blaise had no idea and he wasn’t sure if he should ask. Luna turned to look at him with a small, serene smile.

”Not to worry, we can give you some, if need be,” she said.

”We have loads,” Ginny explained as she placed an adoring kiss on the corner of Luna’s mouth.

Blaise thanked the couple and took his leave, making his way further into the house. He left the wine on the kitchen island.

The next people Blaise recognised were Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan, who he greeted politely, receiving back a nod and a wave, as well as a fresh beer shoved into his hands. The two men were conversing with a wizard he had never seen before, perhaps someone's work friend? Behind the three men stood some witches in a semi circle, having what looked like a very animated conversation. And then, among the witches, Blaise clocked another familiar face, perhaps the most familiar face he was bound to see all evening. Pansy Parkinson was smiling brightly at him, pushing herself up from where she half sat half leaning against the back of a sofa, swiftly making her way towards her Slytherin comrade and diving into a sweet embrace.

”Hey darling,” Pansy said as she gave Blaise a firm cuddle, ”I’ve missed you.”

”Hey Pants,” the wizard said, squeezing his friend tightly. “I’ve missed you too, I’m sorry it’s been too long.” 

”Don’t worry, I’m just glad you’re here now,” Pansy said as she pulled back, a mock stern look on her face, “but for future reference, fuck you and everything you stand for, if you ever disappear on us for that long again.”

Blaise let out a low chuckle.

”That’s more than fair.”

”Come, there’s someone I want to introduce you to,” Pansy said, grabbing Blaise’s arm above his elbow.

Pansy led him towards another corner of the front room, where Hermione, Padma Patil and Lee Jordan were sat around a small round table. Hermione’s back was towards the two approaching Slytherins, and she only noticed Pansy when the dark haired witch slid her hand on the Gryffindor’s shoulder. Hermione smiled and tilted her head back for Pansy to lean over and place the softest of kisses on her mouth.

”Hey,” Hermione cooed at the other witch, who whispered a soft hey back. Then Pansy took a step aside, turning towards the tall man behind her.

”Blaise, I would very much like you to meet my girlfriend, Hermione Granger,” she said proudly, grabbing Hermione’s hand as the brunette stood up hurriedly now that she could see that her partner had brought someone over. Blaise extended his arm towards the Gryffindor.

”It’s been a minute Granger,” he said as they shook hands, with a polite smile. The two witches made a very handsome couple.

”It has, hasn’t it? Lovely to see you again Zabini,” Hermione said, smiling glowingly.

”And you. Congratulations on your new position, deputy head of the International Magical Office of Law is no small defeat,” he said.

”She’s the youngest deputy head in recorded history,” Pansy added and kissed Granger’s cheek. Hermione let out a small giggle that made it quite clear to Blaise that she had enjoyed a glass or two of wine already.

”Thank you, it’s been busy but rewarding.”

But the conversation was cut short by a loud stomping sound, as a pissed off Theodore Nott appeared from their left.

”Well well well, if it isn’t Blaise Zabini, in the flesh,” he snarked as he crossed his arms aggressively over his chest. ”You’re harder to catch than a bloody basilisk nowadays.”

Blaise couldn’t suppress the massive grin that spread on his face as he wrestled the reluctant brunette into a hug, beer sloshing out of his bottle. Eventually Theo gave up, wrapping his arms around Blaise’s broad back.

”Hey to you too Theo,” he said as they parted. The shaggy haired wizard started to smack Blaise anywhere he could reach, not hard enough to hurt him, but not gently enough to be fully playful.

”Some friend you are! Too busy opening businesses and shagging most of London to send one lousy owl to your oldest friends?”

”I’m sorry, I only have bad excuses,” Blaise apologised, genuinely remorseful. ”Although you are always welcome to join me and Draco at Fig Tree or Mirage, you know,” he added, nudging the brunette.

”And watch you being on the pull while half of the city’s gold diggers bat their unnecessarily long eyelashes at the two of you? No thanks, I’d rather stick pins into my eyes,” Theo replied, scrunching up his nose and sticking his tongue out of his open mouth, making a bleurgh! sound. Blaise laughed, guwaffed actually, throwing his head back.

”I’ve missed you,” he said affectionally.

”Well I would miss me too,” Theo said, holding his head high in stubborn fashion, but Blaise could hear the satisfaction creeping through his tone. Theo loved making people laugh.

Blaise greeted Lee and Padma, as the group stayed chatting for a while, Theo and Pansy catching Blaise up on their work. Pansy had gotten a permanent position as a mind healer at St. Mungo’s, and Theo had moved to the serious bites ward, working under the head of department. Blaise felt his chest swarm with warmth as he listened to two of his oldest friends bickering about which staircase at Mungo’s was going to close for renovation. Pansy said it was one between the third and fourth floors, Theo was sure second and third. It felt familiar, a normalcy that he had sorely missed.

Then the Slytherin’s eye caught a shade of red he'd recognise anywhere.

Ron was stood with Harry in front of the fireplace, clearly joking around, their heads close together like they were conspiring something, wicked grins on their faces. Then the dark haired wizard elbowed his best friend in the ribs, the redhead yelping in surprise as Harry scurried away cackling. Ron rubbed his side as his gaze swept across the room, towards where the three Slytherins and Granger were stood. That’s when his blue eyes locked with Blaise’s, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

”Excuse me,” he mumbled to his current company without breaking eye contact with Weasley, and started to walk towards him. If Blaise had paid any mind to his friends he would’ve seen Pansy, Theo and Hermione exchange curious glances.

”Hey,” he greeted, when he reached the redhead.

”Hi,” Ron responded, glancing up at the Slytherin before he averted his eyes again.

How are you? Blaise wasn’t sure why he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question. Ron’s gaze swept over his chest, then down his bare arms.

”You came,” the Gryffindor said. Or rather, pointed out. His voice sounded surprisingly vulnerable.

”Like I said I would,” the taller man responded. Ron kept staring at his shirt and arm.

”You’re not wearing a suit.”

Blaise looked down at his white button up.

”I’m not.”

“You have a tattoo.”

The Slytherin suppressed a smile.

“Are we just stating obvious facts?” 

Ron ignored him.

“It’s a…” the redhead trailed off as he eyed the reptile’s tail wrapping around Blaise’s wrist.

“A snake, I got it after the—“

But then Ron touched his bare arm.

The fingers on his skin felt heavier than they actually were, as they glided along the tattoo towards his elbow. Blaise’s deep stomach muscles tensed involuntarily, it cut off his breathing for a short moment, and he couldn’t help it when a low grunt made its way through his lips as he tried to draw in a small breath. Luckily the party was loud enough that he was pretty sure Ron had not been able to hear it. His skin tingled. 

Then the moment was over as quickly as it started, as the Gryffindor suddenly snapped his hand back like he had burnt himself. His blue eyes were as wide as Blaise had ever seen them when he looked up.

”I’m just gonna—” Ron said, gesturing towards the kitchen island where Theo, Neville and Pansy were now stood, pretending like they weren't just openly staring at the pair by the fireplace.

”Sure,” the Slytherin murmured, his eyes never leaving the redhead's form as Ron quickly moved to the other side of the room.

What the hell was that? 

Blaise was startled out of his stare as he felt a presence beside him. It was Harry, who had suddenly emerged from somewhere, materialising out of what seemed like thin air. He probably came back for Ron, just to find Blaise by the fireplace instead. The raven haired man stood next to the Slytherin with a friendly smile.

Harry too looked quite different to their school days, he was more muscular, maybe even slightly taller? Not as tall as Ron though, but definitely taller than George. Potter was well on his way to becoming head Auror, and Blaise could imagine the training was relentless. The biggest change was definitely the relatively scruffy beard that he had grown, although Blaise had seen that on the cover of the Prophet already. It seemed even more scruffy in person.

Harry looked healthy. Like he was finally being fed enough and maybe even managed to catch a full eight hours every once in a while.

“Potter,” Blaise nodded, ”you’re looking well,” he said, as he turned his eyes back towards the kitchen, gaze immediately searching for that very specific shade of red again.

“Thanks Zabini, ditto.”

The Slytherin couldn’t help that his attention seemed to be rather persistently glued to Ron. He was hoping Potter wouldn’t clock it, Harry was staring at him intently. 

“George talks very highly of you, and it seems you’ve charmed the rest of the Weasleys as well,” the raven haired wizard finally said after a stretched silence. Blaise let out an amused huff.

“Yeah, well, there’s one who isn’t all that impressed.”

Harry smiled wider and nudged Blaise with his shoulder.

“Don’t mind Ron, he’s all bark no bite,” he said. The Slytherin’s eyes settled on the redhead’s mouth across the room.

I wouldn’t mind a bit of bite.

Blaise shook his head quickly to get rid of the thought, scrunching up his face in a small embarrassed grimace at the cringey notion. Harry caught his expression anyway. 

“What was that?” He asked.

“What was what?” The Slytherin retorted, deciding to play oblivious rather than admit to… well, anything.

“That face you pulled,” Harry pressed anyway. Blaise tried to shrug nonchalantly.

“Nothing, just some… thoughts.”

Harry grinned knowingly, and it made Blaise feel very uneasy. Then the Gryffindor tipped his beer can towards the kitchen, where Theo and Ron were now both furiously gesturing at a bottle of wine that the redhead was holding in one hand, Theo trying to grab it from him.

”I think we better go break that up, they look like they’re about to start a fist fight over the drinks,” he said, eyes crinkling as Ron let out a loud shriek followed by an equally loud ‘get your damn hands off me!’ making Harry chuckle. ”Thank Merlin they’re both bottoms because I swear to Gods, if those two ever got together the whole world would explode.”

Blaise followed the Gryffindor as the two made their way across the party.

”What’s this about then?” Potter asked when they reached the kitchen island. Theo pointed at the redhead, like a child ratting out their sibling after being naughty.

”Ron took my wine! I was only telling him that he can be an absolute prissy princess when he wants to!”

Weasley gasped and slapped Theo with his non-wine kidnapping hand.

”I am not prissy nor a princess! And I only said the wine is shite and tastes like arse, who the fuck drinks Chardonnay? We’re not 60 year old women Theo!”

The brunette started wrestling the bottle out of Ron’s grasp. Both men were snarling like some kind of angry wolf pups, strangely enough.

”Fucking la-di-da! Bring your own bloody wine next time then! And give me that if you’re not even gonna drink it!” Theo finally managed to yank the bottle to himself. Neville laughed affectionally at the two arguing wizards, his eyes landing on the grinning Slytherin who turned towards Longbottom just as Neville said ”I’ll share your wine with you Theo.”

”What a gentleman,” he beamed, kissing Neville on the cheek. The Gryffindor blushed worse than Ron usually did. Huh, interesting.

Blaise then cracked a smile of his own as he leaned against the counter, towards the grumpy redhead who was directly in front of him on the other side of the kitchen island.

”I have to agree with Theo, Weasley, you’ve been a right diva when we’ve been looking for the new shop location,” he stated with raised eyebrows.

Ron narrowed his eyes into indignant slits.

”Excuse me Mr. Can’t-Go-For-A-Free-Lunch-Because-I-Am-So-Fucking-Rich, if anyone was being a diva this week it was you!”

“Says the man who thinks he’s too good for Chardonnay,” the Slytherin quipped back, a twinkle in his eye. Blaise actually hated Chardonnay, but Weasley didn’t need to know that. He grabbed the white wine that he had brought with him, pushing it towards the redhead.

”I brought some wine as well, it’s a Riesling if you prefer that,” Blaise said, gesturing at the unopened bottle. Ron crossed his arms defiantly and tipped his chin up, just an inch, but enough to highlight his persistence.

”I don’t need your pity wine. I’m going to the offie, anyone need anything?” He declared instead, turning to look at Harry just as George appeared behind the man, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, kissing the back of Potter’s neck.

”Actually can you buy crisps? And some soda and tonic? I think we’re running out of mixers,” the older Weasley asked.

”We’re running out of beer as well,” Harry added, lifting his nearly empty bottle to emphasise his point, as his other hand rested on top of George's arms on his midriff.

”I’ll come with you,” Blaise volunteered before Ron himself even had time to retort, ”help you carry.”

”I don’t need you to carry anything for me,” the redhead grumbled, lifting his hand to tug at the back of his hair.

”Oh come on Ron, let him help,” George whined exaggeratedly, clearly teasing his brother.

Ron stomped away like an angry toddler but stopped before he got to the hallway, turning back around, eyes fixed on the dark skinned Slytherin.

”Well? You coming?”

Blaise couldn’t help the toothy grin that spread on his face when he went after the vexed redhead, into the hall, out of the door. They walked out into the street and turned right, Ron about two yards in front of the Slytherin. The two stayed silent until they rounded the first corner.

”Some hosts them two fucking are, running out of literally all of the drinks,” Ron said, shaking his head. The very valid point made the other wizard chuckle in agreement. 

The shop wasn’t far by any means, maybe four or five minutes away, but the walk felt longer than that to Blaise as he stared at the smaller man ahead of him. Or, well, his eyes seemed rather fixated on a very specific part of Ron. Surely looking a little didn’t hurt anyone, as long as he wasn’t found out. They rounded another corner and crossed the street.

The exterior of the corner shop was bight blue with a white and red sign that said ’OFF LICENSE, wine, beer, spirits, tobacco and confectionery’. It didn’t look big from the outside, but once they stepped into the offie Blaise realised juts how huge it was, extending and widening towards the back. Ron greeted the muggle behind the till and grabbed a metallic basket, heading straight towards the crisps. The Slytherin followed him, quietly observing the snack selection process.

“Ah, so you’re a salt and vinegar man,” Blaise said as Ron grabbed a family sized bag of the crisps in question.

“So? It’s for everyone, we should get the basic flavours,” the redhead replied, scanning the shelf. Then he gave Blaise a quick side way glance. “I bet you’d go for Thai sweet chili.”

The Slytherin smiled at the lucky guess.

“Bang on the money Weasley, that or wotsits.”

Ron stayed quiet for another moment as he kept looking at the crisps.

“Salt and vinegar isn’t my favourite,” he then said. “Monster munch is.” 

Blaise smiled even wider.

“You know, somehow that makes perfect sense,” he said, nudging the redhead with his elbow softly. A faint blush dusted Ron’s cheeks.

“Can you go get the sodas and tonics? And choose a 24 pack of beer please,” he asked, pointing towards the other side of the shops with the drink fridges. The Slytherin nodded.

Blaise grabbed a half broken metallic basket with a wonky handle on his way and headed towards the drinks. He filled the basket with tonics and sodas and then eyed at the beers, choosing the most expensive pack in case the cheap kind tasted like warm piss. He carried the drinks to the till, where Ron was already piling the crisps and sweets he had chosen. The redhead glanced at the cans Blaise started to unload and snorted.

“Of course you go for the expensive branded stuff,” he said, grabbing a can of Schweppes soda, examining it, and then glanced at the box of lager cans. “And you got the fancy beer as well.”

“What can I say, I’m a fancy man,” Blaise replied with a grin. The night’s three beers were making him feel rather sheepish, loose enough to let his guard down a little. He couldn't seem to help how smiley he as being. Ron snorted a little laugh.

“Well in that case you’re paying and I’m getting myself a fancy bottle of wine from behind the till and not the cheap stuff from the low shelves.”

“Deal.” Blaise always carried muggle money with him - of course he did, he lived in muggle London - so he was more than capable of covering for their shopping. He wanted to.

When Ron started choosing the wine Blaise let his eyes wander over to the snacks that the shop keeper had already scanned and bagged. The redhead had chosen four different kinds of crisps; salt and vinegar, cheese and onion, Thai sweet chilli and cheese wotsits.

The Slytherin’s mouth curved upwards yet again. His chest felt fuzzy. He grabbed a small pack of monster munch and handed it to the shopkeeper. Ron was busy scanning the liquor shelf rather intensely, eyes squinting.

“I don’t even know what that one is but it’s 27 quid so it must be decent,” the Gryffindor muttered, mostly to himself, and then smiled brightly at the man behind the till, asking for ‘the 27 pound wine, please’.

”Come on then Mr. Moneybags,” he chirped as the vendor finished bagging their purchases, ”dig deep into those fancy pockets.”

“You guys are one of the most good looking couples I’ve ever seen,” the shopkeeper suddenly said, smiling at the two men in front of him, eyes flickering from Ron to Blaise.

“Oh,” the redhead started, clearly thrown off by the comment as he started stuttering, “we’re— uhh, we’re not—“

“We’re not together,” Blaise finished the sentence for Ron as he handed over the muggle money. Pounds sterling, such a funny name for a currency.

”Oh,” the shopkeeper seemed genuinely shocked, ”sorry,” he apologised as he gave the Slytherin back his change.

Blaise wanted to make a joke to ease the tension, but he didn’t know what to say. They thanked the man, Blaise grabbed the box of beers putting it under his arm, as well as one of the plastic bags with the snacks and cans - he made sure his was the one with the monster munch - while Ron grabbed the other. They left the shop walking side by side this time. The Gryffindor spoke up first, when they were across the street from the offie. He looked upset suddenly.

”The wine wasn’t too expensive, was it? I should’ve chosen some normal bottle, I’m sorry,” Ron apologised quietly, ”I’ll pay you back.”

Blaise stopped, turning to look at the redhead, who halted too as soon as he realised the Slytherin wasn’t walking anymore.

”You will do no such thing Weasley, that was piss cheap. I have wine at home that costs 150 galleons,” Blaise said, choosing the tone of his voice carefully to make clear he was deadly serious, while also being lighthearted about this. ”Honestly, do not worry. I’m glad I could pay.”

Ron offered him a grateful albeit slightly melancholic smile back.

”Okay.”

They walked in silence for another moment, both seemingly deep in thought, until Blaise reached into the plastic bag he was carrying, pulling out the single pack of monster munch and handed it to Ron. The redhead stared at the packet, then up at Blaise.

“Huh?”

“For you."

“Oh,” Ron breathed, as he grabbed the purple packet, “thank you.” He opened it and started chewing on the crisps, only hesitating a little as he looked at Blaise again.

“Would you like some?” He offered the open packet to the taller man.

“Sure.” 

The Slytherin grabbed two pieces, popping them in his mouth.

Blaise felt the inexplicable need to intertwine his fingers with Ron’s as they walked. Luckily both of the redhead’s hands were occupied by the pickle flavoured crisps, so the Slytherin settled on sneaking glances at the pleased Gryffindor, who was humming quietly as he chewed on his snacks.

He would buy Ron a hundred thousand packets of monster munch, if one made the redhead this content.

And wasn’t that a dangerous thought.

Chapter Text

“He’s infuriating, I don’t know how you’ve been friends with him for so long!”

”I dunno Ron, have you met yourself?”

The redhead scrunched up his whole face in an awkward grimace and crossed his arms in a huff. Theo was staring back at him, sceptical eyebrows raised high on his forehead, the forkful of speared chicken caesar salad that was hanging loosely in his grip momentarily forgotten, as he listened to the redhead finish a rant about just how horribly annoying Blaise Zabini was. Ron turned his head away from the brunette, staring at the framed finger painting on the wall beside him. It looked like a bight red blob in the middle of multicoloured smaller blobs. Victoire made it for him last Christmas. She said it was uncle Wonnie standing in a field of flowers. Ron loved it.

A sharp finger poked the side of his chest.

”Oh come on, I’m only taking the piss, stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic.”

“Well you’re exaggerating, that’s for sure.”

The two wizards were having lunch at Ron’s house, and their topics of discussion had ranged from how arrogant Zabini was to how pretentious Zabini was. Even Ron himself had to admit, the range wasn’t very wide. The redhead didn’t want to only talk about the tall Slytherin, but he couldn’t help himself. The words were quite literally spilling out of his mouth and there was no stopping them. But they spent so much time together, how could he not talk about Blaise?

“I am not exaggerating, all me and him do is argue! We disagree over everything,” Ron snapped back at the cynical looking brunette beside him. Theo hummed, the sound low and flat.

”I dunno, at the party it seemed like you rather enjoyed the bickering, and you were sat awfully close to each other when I left!”

Ron felt a little flutter in the pit of his stomach. They had been sat on Harry and George’s settee for quite some time, talking about work, mainly. The redhead had been painfully aware of the heat that had radiated off Blaise like a human fireplace. Even with the expensive wine he was drinking he hadn’t dared to scoot close enough to touch though; not after he had stroked the snake tattoo. He wasn’t sure he could’ve survived that same surge of electricity that vibrated through his whole body a second time.

”What do you mean?” He asked a smirking Theo.

”Well, you were both sat on that little couch—”

But Ron shook his head.

“No, not that - and just so you know there were no other seats, so I literally didn’t have a choice - I mean, what do you mean I enjoyed the bickering?”

Theo rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“Oh come off it, you were clearly having fun!” He practically snapped, waving his fork around, a piece of chicken flinging off it. Then his gaze turned into something softer, more earnest. Like Theo knew the subject needed to be handled with care. “I’m not taking the piss Ron, you two challenge each other, and as infinitely annoying as you both are, you kind of…” he trailed off, swaying the piece of cutlery is his hand slowly in circles.

”Kind of what?” Ron asked, crossing his arms again. He hated how bothered he sounded. He had been hating a lot of his reactions, lately.

Theo’s fork dropped back into the salad.

”You compliment each other, he’s a better match for you than anyone else I’ve ever seen with you before,” he said, rather too boldly for Ron’s liking. The brunette could probably feel the skepticism radiating off his Gryffindor friend, because Theo sighed and scooted closer with his chair, placing a hand on top of Ron’s beside his forgotten lunch bowl.

“Just give him a chance Ron, he’s actually a very decent person. And generous, he’d absolutely spoil you rotten.”

Ron thought about the wine and packet of monster munch. That flutter in his stomach returned. He decided to pointedly ignore it.

“You’re talking as if I’d have a chance, even if I was interested,” the redhead muttered. He glanced up at Theo, clocking the other’s curious expression and realised just how sad he had sounded then. So he cleared his throat, choosing what he hoped was more of a devil-may-care-about-Blaise-bloody-Zabini-reminiscent tone and added, “which I am not, as he is a prick.”

”Then just give him a chance as a friend then,” Theo said, squeezing Ron’s fingers lying still under his palm. The redhead grabbed his fork with his free hand, shoving some salad in his mouth. Maybe if he was busy chewing he wouldn’t nearly embarrass himself with sorrowful doe eyes and wistful whispers.

“Why thould I?” He mumbled through the crunchy romaine lettuce. Ron knew better than to talk while he ate, but manners be damned. Theo glared at him with badly concealed disgust before he decided to soldier or with the pep talk.

“What’s he done that so bad? Bad enough that you can’t let your guard down and just be his bloody friend?”

Ron shovelled some more food into himself.

“He tfieh to ged undef my hkin on pufpoth!”

Theo slapped the redhead’s shoulder, hard.

“Stop speaking with your fucking mouth full!”

Ron swallowed with an indignant snarl. “I said, he tries to get under my skin on purpose!”

"Give me an example,” the brunette demanded then, ”and it can’t be from the party, because what I saw at the party was not genuine annoyance.” 

I’ll fucking show him genuine annoyance.

Ron sat up straighter. ”Fine, I have loads of other examples. We had lunch at Madam Puddifoot’s—” 

Theo interrupted him with an amused snort.

”Madam Puddifoot’s? That’s awfully cute, didn’t know you’ve been on dates already!” He teased, not able to hold back his laughter. Ron scoffed and waved his hand, dismissing the notion altogether.

”A working lunch Theo, it was a working lunch, George gave me a voucher— that is beside the point, the point is, that he was annoying me on purpose and then had the gall to say that I pout! And he basically insinuated that I go looking for attention from the Prophet! If that’s not trying to get a rise out of me then I don’t know what is!”

“Sure,” Theo replied with a happy-go-lucky smile. Ron didn’t like it, not one bit. He scrunched his nose.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The redhead asked, narrowing his eyes. Theo crossed his arms across his chest.

“No, I’m just— you just seem to have a lot of opinions about the man,” he replied, gazing at Ron carefully. The redhead rolled his eyes for show, but he felt his cheeks heating up.

“Because Zabini is annoying.”

“I dunno Ron, I think you positively glow when you get to complain about him,” Theo said as leaned forward in his chair. With how close had scooted and how far he was leaning, the brunette was very much invading the redhead’s personal space now. It was surprising how such a petite man could have such an intimidating presence, when he wanted to.

Ron was sure his face had flushed red and he turned his gaze quickly down, to hide as much of his cheeks and neck as possible from the hovering Slytherin. Why did his own skin always have to fail him like this, time after time? Theo waved his hand in front of Ron’s downcast eyes, to re-catch his attention.

“You’re being stubborn on purpose, I know it. Why are you being so damn combative and won’t just let yourself enjoy his company? What are you so afraid of?”

Ron hated that Theo knew him so well. The redhead tried not to feel stupid under his friend’s kind gaze; the gentle smile and soft, arched eyebrows. He didn’t want to be treated with pity, like a charity case.

“I dunno, I just— I don’t know,” he finally confessed with a rather heavy sigh.

“I’ve heard he’s a fantastic shag,” the brunette said in a singsong voice, accompanied by a playful shoulder nudge. Ron slapped Theo’s chest as he let out a little amused gasp.

“Theo!”

“What? It’s true! Tell me you don’t want to climb him like a tree!”

This time the redhead couldn’t hold back the outright cackle that burst out of his chest.

“Theo!”

The Slytherin grinned devilishly, clearly enjoying that he was able to make Ron both laugh and scold at once.

“Or a mountain, he’s more like a mountain isn’t he? Built like one, at least,” he elaborated, miming the peak of a mountain with his hands and arms above his head, ”your very own Mount Everest!”

“I do not fancy him,” Ron replied. He was very aware of just how unconvincing his statement was, even as he said it.

“Ron.” Theo said, voice comically deadpan as he dropped his chin to his chest and gave the redhead a for real? look. “Please.”

Okay, fair point.

“Well maybe physically, but not in other ways! Not in the ways that matter,” the Gryffindor continued. It felt rather like he was trying to grasp on straws. But Blaise was a Slytherin, and he was horrendously snobbish, and nothing like Ron himself. Zabini was the only child of an extremely wealthy socialite, raised in privilege the redhead couldn’t even fathom, while he came from a poor family of nine in Ottery St Catchpole. Their world’s just didn’t collide, or not easily at least.

Besides, the one thing Ron had learnt from his childhood was not to dream too far. Being the youngest son of six boys to a mother whose greatest wish was a daughter, you quickly learn that people will be as disappointed in you as you will be in them. Wishing often resulted in wounds.

He was damaged goods, anyways. Littered with scars and insecurities. Surviving the front lines of war as a teenager wasn't exactly a stabilising experience.

“What are those ways then?” Theo asked, cutting off his diffident thoughts.

“Emotionally, spiritually,” Ron replied, making the Slytherin click his tongue.

“Yes, because you, Ronald Weasley, have always found spiritual connections very important.”

“Shut the hell up,” the redhead snapped back, “doesn’t matter anyway, because he doesn’t fancy me.”

“And how do you know that?” Theo demanded.

Ron let out a resigned sigh.

“Men like him fancy brunettes with olive tans, or blondes with big tits, not gingers with… see through skin,” he said, gesturing at himself awkwardly.

Theo’s mouth tightened into a thin line as his brow dropped. Ron recognised a genuinely cross Theodore Nott when he saw one.

“It pisses me off that you don’t realise how beautiful you are,” he snapped, voice harsh enough to make Ron flinch. Theo softened his tone and sought to catch the redhead’s gaze again. “You are gorgeous Ron, because you’re not like every conventionally pretty girl or boy out there! There’s something so unique about you!”

The Gryffindor shook his head.

“You have to say shit like this because you’re my friend,” he said, quietly. The sharpness returned to Theo’s voice.

“And what about all the other men that literally fall at your feet, what are they then?”

“They just want to get with me because I’m famous,” the redhead mumbled in return. The Slytherin scoffed louder than Ron maybe had ever heard him scoff.

“You’re impossible.”

The redhead didn’t want to discuss the topic any longer. He didn’t want to think about Blaise Zabini any more than he already did, which was basically all day, every day. The man had essentially set up house in his brain. He needed a distraction, desperately.

”That’s enough about me anyway. What’s going on with you and Neville? Don’t think I didn’t see you with him at the party,” Ron asked, both because he knew it was the perfect topic to divert Theo’s attention to, and also because he really, genuinely wanted to know. Everyone had seen the two men flirting on Saturday. A big but surprisingly shy smile spread on the brunette’s face. And was that… a blush?

”I’m working on it,” he replied, smug, like a kneazle that got the cream.

”Has it been going on for long? How have I missed this?” Ron asked, frantically.

”Remember the 1st of May party Pansy and Hermione threw?”

The Gryffindor nodded, trying to suppress a grin. ”Of course, how could I forget Hermione’s Labour Day celebration,” he joshed, ”I especially enjoyed the poem Pansy had written to house elves, and how much Hermione cried after.”

”And then Pansy chased us with the fire iron after we laughed at Mione,” Theo said, smiling as if reminiscing about some heartfelt moment and not one of their closest friends trying to cause grievous bodily harm. ”That woman has a violent steak in her you know, for a mind healer as well? Jeez,” the brunette chuckled, letting a low whistle. ”Anyway, Neville was there, right? And I’ve always thought that he’s super fit, plus he always comes to say hi to me at work when he visits his parents. But after that party he walked me home and I finally managed to flirt with him enough that he actually understood I was flirting, and we’ve been texting since!”

Ron let out what could only be described as a mixture of a squeal and a shriek.

“Theo! That was like three months ago! Why didn’t you say anything you idiot?! What have you been texting about?”

“I didn’t want to jinx it, and wouldn’t you like to know,” Theo said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Come oooon, I wanna hear all the dirty details!” Ron whined in a high pitch, before his expression changed into one of hesitant contempt, “or actually, maybe I don’t. It’s Neville, he’s a sweet angel and I don’t know if I’m ready for you to ruin him.”

Theo snorted.

“Doesn’t matter if you do or don’t wanna hear, I won’t kiss and tell, not this time. I actually hope this goes somewhere.”

This time he definitely blushed. Ron’s jaw practically dropped open in disbelief.

”Well colour me purple and call me a pygmy puff, Theodore Nott wants to date? I thought I saw pigs flying this morning!”

Theo narrowed his eyes in playful offence.

”Oh don’t be so damn dramatic, it’s not that unusual!”

Ron shook his head with a laugh, as he grabbed the forgotten ceasar salad bowls, got up and walked towards the sink. He scraped the rest of the food into a small magically sealed compost bin on the kitchen counter. He rinsed the plates and set them in his muggle dishwasher. “Right, I have to get back to work, we got the keys to our shop yesterday so we’ve just started the set up.”

The two wizards grabbed their things and left Ron’s house together, walking towards Woodcroft Crescent arm in arm.

“Just, tell me this Ron,” Theo said when they got to the High Street, “or actually you don’t even have to answer, I’ll know by looking at you.”

The Slytherin came to a halt, making Ron stop with him. Theo unlinked their arms and turned so that he was stood straight in front of the redhead, holding him by the elbows, a ludicrously serious look on his face.

“Have you,” he started, then pausing for dramatic effect as he made intense eye contact. ”Seen dirty dreams about him?”

Ron knew his face gave him away, immediately. It was like his whole head had burst on fire like a dying phoenix. Theo screamed victoriously, his booming voice so loud that the whole street echoed with it. Some pigeons took off beside them, as the loud noise startled them into flight.

“I knew it! I bloody knew it!” He shrieked as he grabbed Ron’s arms.

“Keep your voice down!” The redhead whisper shouted, trying to wriggle out of his friend’s grasp. "Look, you've freaked out the birds!"

Theo was still laughing when he gave Ron a parting kiss on the cheek, and then turned towards Hog’s Head. The brunette had slithered his way into Aberforth’s good graces, so he was allowed to use the fireplace in the pub now. No one on the whole planet was immune to Theo’s charm. Ron had only taken a handful of steps when he heard the brunette yell after him again.

“Say hi to your boyfriend for me!” 

“I hate you!” Ron hollered back without turning.

“Love you too!” Theo shouted with mirth, and then he scurried away cackling like a madman.

The redhead chuckled to himself as he approached their shop, slipping in. They didn’t have any kind of bell system in place yet, nothing to signify someone entering the premises. The Slytherin wasn’t behind the till or anywhere else in sight.

“I’m back,” he called out quite loudly, not sure where Blaise had gone or if the man could hear him. If he even was in the shop anymore, he usually went out for lunch around this time.

But there was muffled grumbling and what sounded like empty boxes being kicked around coming from behind of the shelves that they had been moving using the locomotor charm earlier in the day. And suddenly a topless, sweaty Blaise Zabini appeared. He wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, smudging it with something pink and shimmery.

Ron’s brain short circuited. 

Topless. 

Blaise. 

Sweating.

Zabini.

“Hey,” the Slytherin grunted. He sounded irritated.

“Hi,” Ron peeped back, eyes like saucers. Blaise didn’t seem to clock the redhead’s reaction to his current… uh, bareness, he just continued to wipe that pink shimmery substance onto his brow. The Slytherin must’ve realised he still had some of the goo on his hands, as he brought them in front of himself, turning his arms around and saw the backs of his hands were still rather coated.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, looking around himself until he settled on wiping the sludge on his trousers, which were already rather glittery and wet looking. But he still had them on, thank the fucking heavens.

“Where’s your— ahem, shirt?” Ron managed to squeak out, as he watched the pink shimmer spread around on Blaise’s tailored slacks. 

Zabini was focused enough on trying to clean himself for Ron to let his gaze shamelessly roam upwards to the Slytherin’s chest. His pecs were full and dense, rippling muscles shifting and tensing as he moved his arms around. His washboard abs were just as impressive as the rest of his midriff; flat and chiseled, the kind of defined that they almost seemed sculpted. Like a demigod’s. Mortal men were rarely this finely crafted by nature.

“I picked up a box of the new glitter slime bomb packs and it exploded all over me,” Blaise grunted. Then he turned around, trying to wipe the rest of the slime on the edge of the empty shelf that was behind - now in front - of him.

And oh, the view was even better from the back. Zabini was impossibly broad and powerful, fuck, had his shoulders always looked like that? Not at Hogwarts, that’s for sure. The way his muscles widened upwards from his waist almost made the Slytherin look like he had thick wings. Ron watched a bead of sweat making its way down the line of the taller man’s spine.

Mountain of a man.

Now that the Slytherin was topless Ron could also finally see the full snake tattoo. It started from his shoulder, where the head was, and wrapped around his arm, all the way down his muscular forearm, dancing alongside the prominent veins. It was as if the snake moved when Blaise moved, which was rather hypnotic. Ron followed the reptile’s entire body with his gaze, from head to tail to head to tail to head…

Fuck.

Ron couldn’t tear his eyes away, he could practically feel liquid desire pump through his veins. He clearly needed to get laid, preferably as soon as possible. It had been a while since his last shag, which naturally explained why he was openly ogling at Zabini. The man was hot, everyone knew he was stupidly so, and the redhead was well aware of the stories floating around about the many conquests of the Slytherin Prince as well as his— uh, sexual prowess, like Theo had suggested earlier. But that didn’t mean Ron was attracted attracted to him. At least not any more than someone whose type was tall, dark and handsome was attracted to tall, dark and handsome men. It was purely physical, just like he had said to Theo, before.

Suddenly Ron realised he wasn’t looking at Blaise’s muscular back anymore, but his face. His rather amused face, with his rather moving mouth. When had Zabini turned around? And started speaking?

”Huh?”

Real articulate, Ron.

”Did you hear anything I just said?” Blaise asked, his tone surprisingly playful, coffee coloured eyes twinkling.

”Sorry I must’ve—  I zoned out,” Ron replied. He tried to keep his gaze from wandering down the Slytherin’s body now that the other wizard was facing him again, but the pull of Blaise’s cut abs above the positively sinful V that led to the hem of his trousers was just… too delicious to fight against. It was as if his skin had a golden hue, like a sunset in human form. And who was Ron to look away from a stunning sunset? 

Then he realised Blaise was talking again. Crap.

”— sure that you’re okay Weasley?”

”Of course I am!” he replied with feigned annoyance, to try to cover up for his perving, but his eyes betrayed him by flickering back down to that damned Adonis belt.

“My eyes are up here, you know.

Ron snapped his gaze to Blaise’s grinning face - he had the nerve to look delighted - feeling another violent blush take over his face and neck as he started scoffing and sputtering.

“I wasn’t— you don’t— how dare you suggest— that I— I cannot believe— I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer!”

The redhead started stomping around like a dishevelled ghoul.

“Don’t worry, you can look,” Blaise replied with a frankly speaking obnoxious wink, as his eyes followed Ron’s angry shuffling. “Want me to pose?” He then asked, bringing his arms up to show off his flexed biceps in a bodybuilder stance.

Yes.

”No,” Ron managed to retort, largely to his own surprise, ”leave me alone. Besides, you’re dripping sweat and slime onto the floor, that’s what I was looking at.”

Not a complete lie, Ron had been looking at that little drop of sweat.

“Sure,” Blaise drawled, letting his arms slump to his sides, and somehow they looked just as strong even when he wasn’t tensing. How was the man this stacked?

“And put a shirt on,” the redhead groused as he tried to busy himself with something, anything, good Gods wasn’t there a box of things anywhere near he could grab?!

“You sure you want me to?”

The smirk on the Slytherin’s face was unbearable, and not only because it somehow made him even more handsome. Getting caught staring was mortifying enough, without all the gloating.

“I’m going to the storeroom,” Ron said as he didn’t manage to come up with an immediate real or fake task to occupy himself with, “do not bother me.”

The door closed with a thud. The Gryffindor leaned against it, closing his eyes as he let the back of his skull rest against the wooden surface.

Godric help me.

Well, the dreams weren’t definitely gonna get any less graphic after this.

It took a full hour for Ron’s pulse to drop back to normal, as he set up some floating shelves along the still empty walls in the backroom. They definitely needed professionals to do some of it, but Ron was capable enough to sort out some of the basic storage furniture by himself. Only when his heart had finally calmed down to a nice, steady and above all regular rhythm, did he dare to return to the shop floor. Blaise was fully clothed again - thank the Gods - so Ron started a cautious, casual conversation about the new Skiving Snackboxes. The Slytherin indulged him and didn’t make any more cheeky comments about his previous state of undress, or Ron’s previous state of being a weird pervert. They both stayed setting up the shop until 10pm that evening.

Once Blaise had floo’ed himself home, Ron grabbed his denim jacket, locked up the shop and started walking towards his house. Only then did he let his mind wander back to that droplet racing down the slope of the Slytherin’s spine.

Hmmh. Maybe being friends wouldn’t be that bad.

Chapter Text

The first week of setting things up had gone well. Better than well actually; they were progressing much quicker than expected. Which was mainly due to the fact that both Ron and Blaise had quite consistently stayed working stupidly long hours, well into the evening, until the streets of Hosgmeade were pitch black and deadly quiet. 

Blaise couldn’t lie, the long nights had been… Good. Great, even. The two wizards talked, a lot. They discussed muggle moving pictures, argued about which professor was the biggest pain in the arse during their school days, and what quidditch team was going to take the league that year. The Slytherin found Ron’s unrelenting support for and belief in the Cannons inspirational. Stupid, but inspirational nevertheless.

The man was loyal to a fault.

They also on occasion grazed the topic of their upcoming wicked, wet and wild line and when to launch it, what products to start with. It was proving to be a difficult subject matter though, because more often than not Blaise let his mind... drift, into rather dangerous waters. It was the only conversation that usually ended with both or one of them awkwardly claiming they needed to leave to do something else, or to run an errand of some kind. The dark skinned Slytherin wasn’t sure if Ron’s sudden tasks were as fake as his usually were. 

That’s what they had done that morning, talked about the range of dildos they should start with, how many normal and how many magical models they should launch. If it was better to start with a self-lubricating or a self-moving prototype. Which had once again resulted in Ron excusing himself into the office, where he still was now, while Blaise had firmly placed himself between two shelves to hide the fact that he had gotten half hard. So far he had managed not to wank in the toilet during working hours, but the call of his right hand was becoming increasingly hard to resist. There were only so many force-flagged erections a man could take. 

He found that reading through WWW’s accounts was usually the best way to distract himself from his salacious thoughts, and that was exactly what he was doing at that moment. It had once again worked rather well - most thoughts of redheads bouncing on dildos were gone by now - until he was startled out of his concentration by a sharp, rhythmic tapping. 

Someone was knocking on the glass of the front door. The Slytherin didn’t even glance at the entrance. They weren’t expecting anyone today, George was at Diagon Alley and they hadn’t scheduled builders to come in today. No preplanned fixes or appointments. Besides, anyone working for them knew to call Blaise to let him know beforehand or come get the keys from him. So whoever it was must’ve been just a curious passerby. 

“We’re closed,” Blaise hollered, without bothering to look up. The irritating knocking persisted. 

“Go away,” the Slytherin shouted, doubling the volume of his voice but still didn’t raise his gaze.

The tapping only grew louder.

“I said that we’re clo—” Blaise stopped mid-sentence, as his head snapped up. 

It was Draco Malfoy, standing in front of their locked shop door, smiling devilishly as he wiggle waved his fingers at his Slytherin comrade. Blaise went to unlock the door. 

“Drake? What are you doing here?” 

The blond didn’t wait for his friend to invite him in, as he pushed his way into the shop. 

“Can’t I pop in to see my oldest and dearest friend?” he asked with a level of virtuousness that could only be a carefully considered act, but he dropped the facade quicker than it was put up. “That’s a lie, I do have an ulterior motive, but just remember Blaise, this is all for your own benefit,” the blond continued, patting Blaise on the shoulder and then kept his hand on his friend’s trapezius muscle, squeezing it. It felt rather patronising. 

“What the hell are you on about?” the dark skinned Slytherin managed to ask, brow furrowed as he pushed Draco’s palm off with his arm. 

Right then Ron walked out of the office to the shop floor, carrying another big box - half of the time it felt like it was the only thing they did, carried boxes from room to room - in his grasp. His expression morphed into that of wary boredom as soon as he saw the blond Slytherin, mouth becoming a straight line with one eyebrow elegantly arched. 

“Ah, Malfoy, to whom do we owe this displeasure?” 

Draco positively beamed at the sight of the redhead, and gave him a wide, teeth baring grin. 

“Weasley! You’re just the man I was hoping to catch,” he replied, voice like smooth velvet.  

Blaise blinked stupidly. 

Hmm? Draco came to see Ron? 

The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to congratulate you on the new store, things are shaping up well, aren’t they?” Draco said gazing and gesturing around the room with his hands. Ron’s eyelids squinted together even harder.  

“Don’t think I believe for a second that you’re here to congratulate me,” he replied as he adjusted his grip, holding the heavy box against his abdomen. 

“Let me help you with that,” Draco said hastily, as he rushed over and placed his hands on top of Ron’s on the side of the carton. Blaise could’ve sworn he saw Draco briefly caress the redhead’s fingers with his thumb. An unpleasant sensation stirred in his gut.  

“No thanks, you don’t know where it goes,” Ron replied, practically yanking the box out of Draco’s grip. A lock of hair fell over the Gryffindor’s eyes then, his fringe long enough to tickle his nose. The redhead started blowing at the unruly strand, trying to get it out of his line of vision. 

“Well let me at least help with that then,” Draco laughed, reaching up to push the tress back behind Ron’s ear. Suddenly it felt like the world was moving in slow motion, as those devious Slytherin digits slipped into the fiery red hair. 

The unpleasant feeling in Blaise’s gut grew, exponentially. His hands twitched. 

Ron watched the blond man in front of him with what could only be described as harrowing confusion. He then turned around, slowly, but with his cautious gaze firmly glued on the Slytherin's gleeful face. The box started slipping in the Gryffindor's grip again. Blaise took the opportunity to stride up to his - alleged - best friend, grabbing his arm firmly. 

“Draco, a word, please.” 

He dragged the other wizard towards the closest shelves, so that Ron wasn’t able to see or hear the Slytherins from where the redhead was stood at the back of the shop now. Blaise fixed his furious eyes on Draco. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The question came out as a hiss. Blaise hadn’t registered the tension in his upper body until his shoulder jerked painfully, as he forced Draco to turn towards him with a hard prod. 

“Proving a point,” the blond replied with a smirk, directly turning back around to go after Ron who was walking up to the till. Blaise was left standing dumbly alone between the empty shelves. It wasn’t until Draco started speaking again, the blond’s arrogant voice nudging him back into motion, that he went after the other two. 

“So, Weasley, what does a snack like you do for fun in Hogsmeade?” Draco asked, a cunning grin on his handsome face. Ron turned to glance at him warily. 

“What the hell do you mean a snack? For the acromantula you’re planning on feeding me to?” 

The Slytherin rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I’m just asking how a gorgeous being like yourself spends his free time around here,” Draco replied, with a rather obnoxious wink. It made the pit of Blaise’s stomach bubble with something dangerously akin to rage. 

“Are you alright?” The redhead asked, looking at the blond like he’d lost his mind. Which Zabini himself was now starting to think that his friend actually had. What the fuck was he scheming? 

“Come on Weasley, you’ve never done a bit of flirting before?” 

Ron gave Draco an incredulous stare. 

“Oh I’ve flirted plenty, I’ve just never flirted with a Malfoy,” the redhead scrunched up his nose in distaste, placing down the heavy box he had been carrying before he turned back to face Draco, “a lot of ancestors are rolling in their graves right now.” 

It wasn’t Ron’s comment that caught Blaise off guard - he knew exactly how annoyingly witty the redhead was when he wanted to be - but the sound of Draco’s bright, genuine laugh ringing through the shop. And judging by his half-shocked half-horrified expression, Ron was just as surprised. 

“You’re funny Weasley,” the blond finally managed to retort, after his damn chortling died down. 

“And you’re creepy, Malfoy.” 

The evil bastard laughed, again. 

“How’s the shop coming along anyway?” Draco then asked, taking two further steps towards the redhead. He was starting to get uncomfortable close, now. Too close. Fuck, Blaise just needed the blond snake to take a – physical as well as metaphorical – step back, put more distance between himself and the Gryffindor, not lean and leer over Ron like a fucking manticore about to eat a baby lamb. Didn’t Draco know it was Blaise’s fucking baby lamb that he was— 

Wait, what? Whose what now? 

“Fine, nothing we can’t handle,” the redhead replied, eyeing the blond Slytherin up and down, like trying to assess if he was a threat or not. 

“Let me know if you ever need to unwind, I’m sure we can find ways to make you relax. Well, I can promise you’ll feel relaxed afterwards,” Draco said with another self-satisfied smirk that was accompanied by an unnecessarily suggestive eyebrow wiggle, leaning even further into Ron’s personal space, their faces only a foot apart now. 

Fuck no. 

It took Blaise two and a half seconds and seven long strides to reach the two men standing by the till. He grabbed the back of Draco’s suit jacket by its collar, yanking the blond wizard away from Ron. 

“Thank you, Draco, for popping by, I’ll see you out now.” The words came out strained with irritation, tight and shaky like an old rusty coil right before it was sprung free and broken. Draco waved his hands like an excited child saying goodbye, as the darker Slytherin dragged him out of the shop by his neck. 

“Goodbye Weasley, hope to see you soon!” 

The door closed with a ding and a bang as the two men staggered to the alley beside them, where the bins were. It was on the side of the shop without windows. 

“What the fuck?” Blaise asked as soon as they reached their destination, slamming Draco’s back against the building. He didn’t give his friend a chance to reply before he continued, “if you ever do that again Drake, I swear to Salazar I’ll—” 

Draco interrupted him with a scoff. 

“You’ll what?” The demand was accompanied by a humourless gasp of laughter, “come on, spit it out! You’re bothered!” 

Blaise was sure his face was twisted into something ugly and furious by now, to match how the inside of his stomach and chest felt. 

“Of course I’m bothered when you disturb my employees at work!” 

Draco shook his head. “That’s not it, try again. I wonder what could make you like this?” he asked, mockingly, with an index finger raised to his cheek as he made a faux hmmm gesture. 

The taller Slytherin shoved his blond friend again, slamming him against the red brick wall out of pure frustration. It was seeping out of him like a liquid. Draco pushed him back, although the shove was more of a get-your-fucking-act-together shove than an actual attempt to attack or annoy. 

“Just admit it!” he badgered. 

“There’s nothing to admit!” Blaise hissed, “I just don’t want you around to distract my business partners!” 

Draco pushed Blaise again, this time with more fervour. Their scuffle was toying the line of becoming an actual fight. The darker Slytherin balled his fists, just in case. 

“So you’re completely fine if I ask Weasley to come over to mine for a weekend long fuckfest if I just do it after he finishes work?” 

Blaise wanted to barf at the mental image that the sentence conjured up. 

“No, I’m not fine with that, because I want you to stay away from all of my business partners, including the Weasleys!” 

“You’re such a stubborn fucking prick,” Draco mumbled, finally taking a step back and walking in a frustrated circle, before he fixed his annoyed gaze on the other Slytherin, “Blaise, I know that you know what I mean. Just be honest with yourself.” 

The taller man sneered like a wild animal that had been cornered. 

“Well I know that you know that I don’t get involved with people that I do business with!” 

Draco brought his hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. 

“Oh my fucking Gods.” 

Blaise grabbed the blond’s arms. 

“Just, promise me you’ll stay away from him,” the dark skinned Slytherin demanded hotly, “promise me Draco!”  

Blaise was not a fan of the tinge of desperation that was seeping into his tone, but he couldn’t stop it. Draco could not sleep with Ron, he just fucking couldn’t. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to pull your head out of your arse,” the blond then said, shaking Blaise’s hands off him. He brushed down the sleeves of his suit jacket with a snobbish scowl painting his sharp features. “And you better bloody hope it won’t be too late when you finally do.” 

Then Draco turned sharply and disappeared with a crack. Blaise stared at the spot where his best friend had just stood, trying to calm his racing heart with deep breaths. After what must’ve been a solid 90 seconds he finally whirled around and walked back into the shop, opening the door with a much harder yank than was necessary. 

Ron was still beside the till. His eyebrows were scrunched up in puzzled confusion as he watched the Slytherin storming through the entrance. 

“Did Malfoy just… ask me out?” 

Blaise let out an openly annoyed huff of air, blindly grabbing a box to take into the backroom. 

“What you do on your free time is none of my concern Weasley, just please try to refrain from flirting with men when we’re at work,” he snapped, harshly. Probably unnecessarily so. Well, definitely unnecessarily so. 

Ron turned to look at him, neither of them moving, making uneasy eye contact. The Slytherin stared stubbornly back at the redhead, his grip on the carton uncomfortably tight. He could feel his fingertips breaking through the material. 

“What the hell Zabini? He’s your mate, I didn’t invite him here,” the Gryffindor shot back. 

“Doesn’t mean you have to entertain him like that,” Blaise practically scolded. Ron just stood frozen on the spot, like he couldn’t believe their conversation was actually taking place. 

“Entertain? I didn’t entertain him?” 

The Slytherin just kept staring at Ron. He wasn’t sure why, he felt like he was waiting for something, but didn’t know what that was. What did Blaise want? For the redhead to vehemently declare that no, he was in fact not attracted to Draco and the idea of spending a night with the man was simply revolting? That he would rather swim in a pool of tiny spiders than have sex with Malfoy? Why wasn’t Ron declaring that? Did he want to sleep with Draco? 

“Whatever,” Blaise muttered, instead of asking all the questions he wanted to. 

The redhead rolled his eyes as he turned around to grab something from the top of the low cupboards behind the till. “Real mature Zabini.” 

“Real mature Zabini,” Blaise mimicked, raising his voice a full octave higher. Ron stopped what he was doing and turned back to face the Slytherin. 

“Are you being serious right now?” He asked, disbelievingly.  

“Are you being serious right now?” The Slytherin mimicked again, with the same high-pitched tone. The Gryffindor sucked his teeth. 

“Behave like a prat then, see if I care.” 

“Behave like a prat then, see if I care.” 

Blaise was well aware he sounded nothing like Ron. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” the redhead chided, and Blaise knew he deserved every bit of abuse the Gryffindor might throw his way. If anything, Ron was being far too generous with his patience.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Blaise still snapped back, but this time it was clearly a reply instead of a mimic. Then he walked up to the office door, struggling with the doorknob while simultaneously holding onto the box. Fuck, they were bloody wizards, why did they always carry the stupid fucking things instead of using magic? He finally managed to pry the door open with another over the top yank, and half slammed it shut behind him. He dropped the case on the floor with a thud, its contents spilling out.

Blaise wasn’t sure if he could explain or even recite all the different feelings brewing inside his chest, dripping down and burning like acid in the pit of his stomach. And he absolutely did not want to think about what those feelings might mean, because that was a territory he was not willing to venture into. Not right now at least, he— fuck, he needed time to figure this out. What he felt. What he wanted.  

All he knew for certain right now, was what didn’t want. That he did not want to see Draco’s hands on top of Ron’s, or in his hair, ever again. 

He closed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. Fuck, there were definitely better ways he could’ve still dealt with... that. Whatever the hell it was. Draco was such a fucking little shit. But so was Blaise, apparently. Why did he have to imitate Ron like that? What the fuck was he thinking? Although that was precisely the problem; he wasn't thinking. He just... he reacted. Fuck. The Slytherin waited ten minutes before he went back through to the shop floor. Ron was sat on the floor in front of one of the shelves that they had already moved to its decided rightful place. He was stocking the lowest level, two boxes of products on either side of him. 

Blaise cleared his throat. Ron didn’t look up. 

“My apologies, that was— childish, I was being childish,” Blaise said, a tad more hesitant than he had hoped to sound like. 

“No shit,” the redhead mumbled, eyes glued to what his hands were doing. 

“Can I help, with that?” the Slytherin asked, as a peace offering. Ron spared him a tiny glance. 

“I dunno, can you?” 

Blaise swallowed his pride. It tasted a lot like cigarette ash. 

“I can.” 

“Bold of you to assume I want your help after that hissy fit,” the Gryffindor muttered, but he finally stopped what he was doing. Blaise had the decency to duck his head in embarrassment. 

“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, I was being unprofessional.” 

Ron sat very still for another moment before he got up, grabbed the other case beside him on the floor, and walked up to Blaise, shoving the carton full of glitter slime bomb packs against the Slytherin’s stomach, hard.  

“Try not to let them explode all over yourself,” he scowled, then turned back to the shelf he had been arranging. 

After a relatively hostile 45 minutes the redhead stared to visibly relax again, and by the time an hour and a half had passed Blaise felt like a silent truce had been reached. He dared to ask about the carpenter witch who was coming in later that week.

They stayed at the shop until 10pm again, talking about what to do with the ceiling; keep the wooden panels they had now, or paint it a colour. Ron wanted to charm it to look like a summer sky. They settled on painting the ceiling the same shade of orange as in the Diagon Alley shop, while looking into the enchantment options. By the end of the evening the redhead's face was twisted into a little apprehensive frown, as Blaise had spent the last few hours agreeing with him more than the Slytherin maybe usually did.

Blaise bid the Gryffindor good night and floo’ed himself home, as Ron stared locking up the shop. But this time, instead of getting himself ready for bed, Blaise left his apartment to pop into to the all-night off-license around the corner from his flat. He bought two packets of monster munch and some chocolate. He’d give them to Ron tomorrow. 

He walked home in the stillness of the late July London night, deep in thought while avoiding actually thinking, then brushed his teeth and showered, crawling into his plush bed naked. He tugged at his half erect manhood, bringing it to full stiffness while he did his best to keep his fantasies as vague as possible. The frustrations of the day made him spill quicker than average into his palm. He muttered a quick scourgify before he rolled over and let slumber take over.

Blaise dreamt of freckles and eyes the shade of the Tyrrhenian Sea, like he had every night for the past two months.

Chapter Text

People often made two assumptions about one Ronald Weasley. 

One, that he had a rather confrontational personality, based on his run ins with the press. Two, that he was impatient with a bad temper, coincidentally also based on his run ins with the press. 

Both of which were simply not true. 

That was at least what Ron was trying to tell himself, as he watched Zabini stomp in a tense fashion around him, trying to resist the urge to grab the Slytherin and scream what the hell is wrong with you today?! 

It had been a strange morning, to say the least. Ron and Blaise were at the shop as usual. They’d be ready to open within a fortnight, they had hired a carpenter witch who was coming in every other day to get the interior ready. Today was her off day, so it was just the two wizards working alongside each other. But the Slytherin was behaving weirdly, too weirdly for Ron’s liking. He kept pacing and huffing, stopping and turning to look at Ron with a disturbingly contemplative expression, then reverting back to pacing. It seemed like he was very much on the edge of… what? The Gryffindor didn’t know. But it was definitely something. 

Ron had never seen Blaise this fidgety, to the point that the redhead himself was feeling incredibly antsy as he watched the taller man stepping around the shop aimlessly. The Slytherin’s whole personality was practically based on being cool, calm and collected, so what the hell was this? Although Ron found that Zabini’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic, that with all his recent outbursts. Maybe the Gryffindor had been making his own not-so-true-assumptions about the man. Maybe the cold headedness was all an act and this was Blaise letting his real colours shine through. 

Ron certainly hoped not, this version of the man was nothing short of stressful. Kind of cute, but definitely stressful.

”Zabini you need to stop pacing, you’re gonna burn a hole on the floor, and frankly, you’re making me anxio—” 

“Let’s go get lunch,” Blaise said suddenly, stopping in front of Ron again. The redhead blinked from where he was sat on a high stool behind the till. 

“What?” 

The Slytherin brought his hands to his hips. 

“Let’s have lunch, together,” he said, with surprisingly angry - or determined? - eyebrows. Ron stared at him with his mouth downturned into a confused grimace. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“We never celebrated getting the location down but we should. Let’s grab lunch,” Blaise replied, his tone and body language both unnecessarily urgent, considering that he was dishing out a meal proposal. The redhead swung his legs awkwardly on the barstool-esque chair. The perplexed frown persisted. 

“Where?” 

Blaise huffed and crossed his arms across his massive chest. 

“Can you try to reply with something that’s not a one syllable question?” he asked, clearly fighting an eye roll. 

Ron’s grimace gave way as his brows relaxed and his mouth curled at the edges. 

“How?” he asked, eyes twinkling now. He started spinning side to side on the stool. Blaise huffed again, louder. 

“That doesn’t even make sense Ron.” 

The Gryffindor froze in his tracks, planting his feet firmly on the floor. A warm feeling spread from his chest to his limbs as he let a slow but wide smile properly take over his face. 

That’s the first time he hasn’t called me Weasley, or Ronald. 

Blaise was still looking at him with the same irritated expression. 

“What the hell are you smiling about?” he scowled. The Gryffindor just grinned wider, teeth showing with his tongue caught between them. The taller man’s eyes flickered down to the pink muscle. They were firmly trained on his mouth when the redhead spoke. 

“You called me Ron.” 

The Gryffindor could have sworn he saw Blaise’s cheeks darken as his eyes snapped back to meet Ron’s gaze, before he huffed a third time, shrugging his shoulders nearly too nonchalantly. 

“That is your name, isn’t it?” 

The redhead got up from his seat, sauntering up to Blaise with his face still split by his massive smile. He clasped his hands together behind his back, as he looked up at the Slytherin with his chest puffed out and shoulders drawn back, straining the top buttons of the green shortsleeved shirt that he was wearing. He was sure his already prominent collarbones must’ve been peeking from underneath the fabric, because the darker man’s eyes darted down to the base of his throat. It made the redhead swallow. Blaise’s gaze followed his Adam’s apple. 

“Well, technically my name is Ronald, so Ron’s actually a nickname,” he cooed jokingly and leaned forwards, releasing his right hand as he brought it up to tap the taller wizard’s chest with his index and middle fingers. 

The Slytherin’s breath sounded heavier than normal. 

“It’s hardly a nickname if everyone calls you by it,” he murmured lowly, looking down at the Gryffindor’s digits that were now resting against his chest. 

Just a friendly little pectoral prod as a joke. Nothing weird about it. Gods he’s strong. But not in, like, a weird way. Just a normal, friendly way. 

“You have a nickname for me,” Ron said, in a lilty singsong voice now, tapping his fingers against the other man’s abdomen again. He probably should lift his hand off Blaise’s chest. And he would, in a second. 

“Piss off,” the Slytherin replied in a ticked off tone, but he didn’t move or try to shift away from the redhead’s touch. 

“It’s only fair I should have a nickname for you then, don’t you think, Blazer?” 

The taller man’s upper lip curled, baring his canines. 

“Absolutely not that though. And I thought I’m already Mr. Moneybags, and what was the other one you used at George and Harry’s party? Something about being too rich to eat lunch?” 

Ron ignored him. 

“I think I’ll just call you Blaisy.” 

“No.” 

“Blexy?” 

“No.” 

“Big daddy Blaise.” 

Time stilled. 

Ron meant it as a joke, he really did, but the way it came out it didn’t… it didn’t quite sound like a joke. At all. He lifted his chin, locking eyes with Zabini. The already deep brown irises seemed almost black now, the amber in them was fully gone. Ron felt his cheeks growing impossibly warm under the weight of Blaise’s gaze. 

There was a heavily pregnant pause before the Slytherin spoke, voice coming out gruff and strained. 

“Blaise is just fine, but daddy works too, if you insist.” 

Ron couldn’t tear his eyes away. They were locked in what felt like a staring contest, and Ron was pretty sure he was losing it. Or, well, completely sure that he was. He felt heat prickle at the back of his neck under the taller man’s smothering presence. They were stood too close to each other, and it felt like Blaise was looming over him, slowly inching even closer. 

“I can do lunch,” Ron finally managed to squeak out, as he looked down at the floor. He couldn’t bear the heaviness of those pitch black eyes anymore. 

“Marvellous. Then let’s go get lunch.” The Slytherin sounded impossibly guttural. It sent a violent shiver down the redhead’s spine.

Ron shuffled away, back towards the till to grab his denim jacket from the hat stand. His whole head felt warm, once again. 

“Where do you wanna go?” he asked, in an attempt to change the damn subject. 

“There’s that new bistro around the corner,” Blaise replied, voice nearly back to its regular gruffness. “Want to try it out?” 

“Sure,” the redhead retorted, and then made his way towards the entrance of the shop without looking up. Right before he managed to grab the doorknob another hand curled around the brass handle, as the Slytherin opened the door for him. Ron mumbled a thank you as he rushed through the frame, into the hot early afternoon sun. July had just turned into August and the summer was coming to a slow end. Blaise followed him, and they headed quietly towards a yellow brick building at the far end of Mooncroft Crescent. 

Fucking hell, why did I have to call him daddy? Fucking daddy? Why not… muffin, or pumpkin, or something else food related? Food was neutral, food wasn’t suggestive. Ron wanted to die. What were the chances of an asteroid taking him out at this very moment? Not big, probably. 

As the approached the bistro, Blaise hurried his steps so that he was in front of Ron, grabbing the door and opening it for him again. This time the redhead didn’t thank the taller man as he entered the restaurant, but started eyeing him up and down cautiously, gaze narrowing slightly as the edges of his nerves bunched up with suspicion. Blaise dashed in after him and silently gestured towards a free table for two by the window at the corner of the room. 

When they got to their seats Blaise started pulling out the fucking chair for Ron. 

”I can get my own chair,” the redhead snapped, the words coming out rushed and annoyed. ”But thank you,” he added, bringing his tone down to a softer murmur as they sat down, trying not to seem too ungrateful or rude. But what the hell was all this pacing and door opening and chair pulling about? 

It all felt suspiciously much like an actual date. But Ron knew better than to behave like a gullible, starry-eyed teenager swooning over someone who probably didn’t even give him a second thought. 

But just maybe... 

”So,” Blaise started, sitting inhumanly straight, even for someone who had great posture. It made the Gryffindor unconsciously sit up himself as well, pushing his shoulders back.  

”So…” he replied, drawing out the vowel, and then both men fell silent. Ron’s eyes were flickering around the room, trying to figure out something to say. 

They started speaking at once. 

“This—“ 

“Are you—“ 

The redhead felt his cheeks flush. He started tugging at his neck hairs with his right hand, left arm crossing over his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he said, simply. Blaise shook his head. 

“No, my apologies, go ahead.” 

The Gryffindor was pretty certain the pink that dusted his cheeks had now deepened to a red. 

”This place is nice,” he croaked, then cleared his throat quickly. 

Merlin’s tits. 

A waiter then saved the pair from their own awkwardness, as the bulky man with a moustache walked up to them with a customer service smile and two clipboard menus. 

“Do you need a minute, I can come back?” the hench brunette asked as he handed the menus over.

“I think I’ll just have the chicken and roast veggies please, and a pumpkin fizz,” Ron replied after a quick scan, handing back the clipboard to the nodding man. He was wearing a black henley shirt and jeans, a bright yellow apron covering his front.

“And a butterbeer and steak sandwich for me, please,” Blaise said after another moment. The waiter nodded again. 

“Of course,” he replied. The brunette hesitated for a second and turned towards the Gryffindor. “I like your shirt,” he said, the polite smile turning into something more genuine, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“Oh,” Ron said, quickly looking down at himself, then back at up with a matching grin. “Thanks.” 

“Green suits you,” the pornstache man continued, a bit cheekier now. The redhead chuckled. 

“Thank you.” 

Ron was startled by Blaise practically throwing his wooden clipboard at the waiter, slapping it against the brunette’s chest. 

“Yes thank you, that’ll be all for us,” the Slytherin growled, clearly annoyed. The moustached wizard turned to look at Blaise, green eyes twinkling with amused curiosity as he nodded one more time, before he turned around and left, taking the menus with him. Ron folded his arms and fixed the taller man sat across from him with a stern glare. 

“Don’t be rude, he was being really nice.” 

The Slytherin made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a snort. 

“Yes well, it’s hardly his job to give fashion advice, is it?” he snapped back, the crease between his eyes deepening as his brows knitted together. The redhead clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t behave all posh and mean, it’s not a flattering look.” 

Blaise grunt snorted again. His expression relaxed as he let his gaze swoop over Ron’s shirt. 

“Green really does suit you though,” he then stated, catching the redhead off guard. He sounded all... tender. Ron caught his eye and they both smiled. 

“Thank you.” 

The Slytherin's gaze travelled down to the green shirt again, then shifting to the redhead’s arms. He followed their length to where they disappeared underneath the table. Ron started to feel rather self-conscious. He often did, if people stared at his marred skin. 

“How did you get those scars?” Blaise asked.

Ron looked down at himself again, the whiteness of the marks snaking down his skin extra obvious in the bright sunlight by the window.

“Brains, at the department of mysteries in 1995. When we thought we could save— save Sirius.” 

Zabini cocked his head to the side like a curious Doberman. 

“Brains?” 

Ron started tracing the scars with his long fingers. 

”Yeah, a death eater managed to curse me and it made me summon brains from this tank. The brains, they had, like, tendrils that wrapped around me,” he said, arms in front of his body now, above the table as he turned them back and forth, as if showing Blaise the 360 degree visual. That’s what he usually did, when people asked. If he just continuously moved his arms when someone wanted to see the scars then they wouldn’t be able to focus and properly see, in case it made them grossed out. 

Ron felt incredibly insecure under Blaise’s intense gaze. The Slytherin probably thought he was as disgusting. Fuck, he should’ve worn long sleeves. 

It would be less hurtful if he pointed out his own imperfections. So the Gryffindor let out what he hoped was a carefree laugh, as he let his hands drop back into his lap. It came out more heavyhearted than anything. 

“Yeah, the state of me, right?” 

Blaise looked up from the redhead’s arms, confused gaze finding’s Ron’s self-deprecating one. 

“Pardon?” 

Ron let out another sad chuckle. 

“I’m all… mangled.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Blaise seemed genuinely confused. It was making Ron feel uncomfortable. Surely he didn’t need to explain something so painfully apparent? 

“I don’t just have these scars,” he then said, waving his arms again, “my left shoulder splinched in 1997, so it looks pretty rough. I’m not like you.” 

The Slytherin tilted his head to the side.

“Not like me?”

Fucking hell, is he making me spell out every damn thing for him?

“You know, ripped muscles and golden skin, I’m skinny and pasty and freckled and mangled,” he stated, gesturing at Blaise and then at himself. The taller wizard still looked bemused as he let his gaze wash over the redhead like a wave yet another time. All the staring was frightening.

“I happen to think that your scars are rather beautiful, and even more so they’re a testament of what you’ve gone through, what you survived. And you’re not pasty. You’re fair. And your freckles, they’re— they suit you. You… you have very nice skin.”

Ron was certain the splotches of scarlet on his cheeks were spelling actual words on his face, like a flushed confession of all of the warm feelings nesting in his chest at that very moment. 

“Thanks.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them. It felt nice. Until Blaise had to behave like a little dickhead again. 

“Muscles and golden skin, huh?” he asked, with a devious grin. Ron rolled his eyes in an overtly dramatic fashion. 

“You know what I mean,” he just replied. 

“Do I?” The Slytherin’s tone was nothing if not playful. 

“You know what you look like,” the redhead mumbled, “don’t pretend that you don’t.” 

“Well, right back at you,” Zabini grinned, from ear to ear. 

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This was where the other man would say something unsavory. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, chest filling with dread. The air around them became thick with apprehension. 

“Ron,” Blaise started hesitatingly, “you do know that you are drop dead gorgeous, right?” 

The redhead felt like all air had been sucked out of his body. Every fiber of his being vibrated. Maybe it wasn’t actually funny that Zabini was starting to call him Ron. More like, devastating and life changing. 

“You don’t have to…” he choked out, eyes glue to the floor. He heard the Slytherin scoot his chair closer to the table. 

“I’m serious, you’re like - otherworldly beautiful.” 

“Shut up,” Ron squeaked, ”that’s not— that’s not even a thing.” 

“It is and you are it,” Blaise said, voice low and too serious for the redhead’s liking, “you could model if you wanted to.” 

The Gryffindor hid his face in his hands. 

“Oh my gods,” he mumbled into sweaty palms. And the Slytherin just kept on going. 

“I’m deadly serious, you could be a—“ 

Ron dropped his hands down and snapped his gaze up, finally making eye contact with the taller man as he interjected. 

“Okay Blaise! I believe you, let’s just— let’s change the subject, please.” 

The dark skinned man stilled, mouth open like he was trying to decide if he’d finish his sentence or not. In the end he decided against it. 

“Okay,” he said instead. The redhead bowed his head in gratitude as they both looked out of the window. 

“So.” 

The redhead’s mind was drawing a blank on what else he could say, after that. He felt the afterglow of the compliments on his cheeks and neck. 

“So.” 

Back here again. 

Ron watched as Blaise tapped his fingers against the table. There was one thing that had been bothering him, something he had wanted to find out for a while now. 

How do I figure out if he’s single? 

A different waiter brought the pair their drinks, a blond witch this time. Her eyes were glued on the dark skinned Slytherin. Figures. They thanked her, and if Ron’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit as he sipped his pumpkin fizz, well, no one else noticed, or needed to notice. It was no one’s business but his.

Right. How do I do this?

The Gryffindor coughed into his fist, cleared his throat. 

“You live in muggle London, right?” 

Blaise lifted his gaze as Ron asked the question. 

“Right,” he confirmed. 

“Do you like it?” 

Zabini nodded, with a smile. “I do, it’s peaceful, and I love London.” 

Ron fought for his life not to blush as he asked the next question. 

“You live alone?” 

Blaise smiled wider. 

“Yes, alone,” he replied, “but my family has a house in the south of Italy as well.” 

Don’t deflect. I need to know about people in your flat in London, not bloody Italy. Although would be lovely to visit one day. By myself, I mean.

“That sounds really nice,” the redhead said, then paused. “Do you miss Italy?” 

Blaise nodded again. 

“All the time.” 

How the fuck do I ask him if he’s seeing someone without actually asking if he’s seeing someone? 

”You didn’t bring anyone to Harry and George’s party,” Ron then practically blurted, words coming out rushed. The Slytherin studied him carefully. 

”I didn’t.” 

So this is when he fucking starts acting all levelheaded again? Shitting hell. 

”Why?” 

Zabini’s eyes were too bloody piercing. Ron crossed his legs, uncomfortable under his own questioning.

”Why would’ve I brought someone?” Blaise asked. The Gryffindor chanced a look into those coffee coloured orbs. 

”You know, your partner. If you’re dating someone.” 

The redhead uncrossed his legs and crossed them again, so that the other one was on top now. 

”I’m not dating anyone,” Blaise said. There it finally was. 

”Oh.” 

Both men fell silent. 

Fuck, that was too direct. 

Blaise opened his mouth but whatever he had been about to say was cut off by their food arriving. The Gryffindor smiled at the nice brunette waiter who gave him a little wink as he placed down their meals. Zabini made yet another grunt snort.

“What about you, do you live alone?” the Slytherin then asked Ron, even though he was glaring at the waiter’s retreating back as he spoke. 

“Yeah,” the redhead replied, rather amused by Blaise’s crabby behaviour. They were back to this version of the Slytherin, it seemed. He had been acting a lot more immature recently than Ron had ever expected. It was annoying, but a part of him also found it kind of... endearing. It made him more normal, not just perfect. The imposing man was rather adorable when he huffed and puffed, and a lot less imposing. 

“Do you... like it?” Zabini queried further, looking at the redhead now. Neither one was touching their food. 

“I do, after growing up with six siblings and then all of school in dorms it’s nice to have something that’s just mine, you know?” 

Blaise bobbed his head, even though Ron didn’t think the spoiled Slytherin actually knew what he meant, at all. Everything he owned had probably always been brand new and just his. No hand me down clothes, or wands, or rats-slash-death-eater-in-disguise-pets. 

“And you like living in Hogsmeade?” Zabini asked. 

The Gryffindor smiled and looked out the window, into town. He did love these streets that he had grown so fond of in the past four years. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay there forever though. 

“Yeah, although I’d like to maybe one day have a place near the sea, a little cabin. My oldest brother Bill lives in Cornwall, their house is called Shell Cottage. I love it there. But I do love Hogsmeade as well, I love my house.”  

Just ask him to come over. Just ASK. 

“Do you— if you’d like— ah, I mean...” 

JUST ASK, RON! 

But his nerves failed him last second. 

“Would you like to move somewhere else in England if you could?” the redhead questioned instead. 

Coward. Fucking yellow bellied scaredy cat. Call yourself a bloody Gryffindor, do you?

Blaise shook his head. 

“No, I think I always want to at least have a flat in London. But I wouldn’t mind having multiple houses.” 

Ron snorted a laugh at that. 

“Posh,” he muttered, finally grabbing his knife and fork, digging into his meal. The taller wizard followed suit, taking a swig of his butterbeer before he picked up his sandwich. The rest of their meal was spent making relaxed conversation. 

Once they finished, Ron got up to go to the toilet. When he came back Blaise was standing by the entrance, holding the redhead’s denim jacket. 

“We still need to pay,” the Gryffindor said, gesturing towards the till as he reached Zabini who just shook his head. 

“I paid already,” he replied, giving Ron his jacket back. The redhead stared at the blue denim as he held it, eyebrows drawn together. 

“No, I don't—” 

The Slytherin interrupted him, but his voice was gentle and soothing. 

“I want to pay Ron, please let me."

“Okay,” the Gryffindor breathed, cracking a grateful smile, “thank you.” 

Ron threw his jacket on, as both men turned to holler a thank you towards the staff, and Blaise pushed the door open. 

“Come again,” the kind pornstache man called out from the entrance to the kitchen. The redhead threw a smile over his shoulder before he stepped out of the bistro. 

“That was… nice,” he then said, as the two started walking back to their shop side by side.

“We should have lunch together again,” Blaise suggested, glancing quickly at the Gryffindor from the corner of his eye. Ron smiled up at him. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind going back there,” he replied. 

The Slytherin's jaw clenched visibly, before he relaxed it. 

“Maybe we can try different places.” 

Ron smiled again. 

“That works too.” 

It only took them a few minutes to get back to the shop. 

Later, when the night had fallen and Ron was back at his house, brushing his teeth while topless in his pyjama trousers, he let his gaze study his own naked upper body in the bathroom mirror. Somehow his scars didn’t seem so bad that particular night.

Chapter Text

Blaise liked watching Ron. He just— he liked watching the redhead do things; the way he worked in the shop, carried boxes, squatted down to the low shelves to arrange products. How firmly the Gryffindor handled the till, the way he studied documents and licked his index finger before he flicked over a page. Blaise liked watching how Ron’s hands moved when he ate, or the way he held his wand when he cast charms. How he always fussed and adjusted his shirts – today it was a silky looking beige button up t-shirt with some ornate patterns down both sides on the front – or how he scrunched his nose and tugged at his hair. The way his lips curled when he smiled, or frowned, or spoke. The Slytherin especially liked the shape of the redhead’s mouth when he said Blaise’s name. 

Like he was doing at that very moment, snapping the Slytherin out of his rather orally centred thoughts. 

”Blaise?” 

”Hmmh?” he grunted, eyes still trained on those gorgeously pink lips, as a wet tongue peeked out to swipe across the soft looking flesh. It was captivating. Fuck. 

To avoid any – erm – inconvenient reactions, Blaise tore his gaze away from that sinful mouth, only to find himself in no better shape when he met a divine pair of eyes. Those eyes, the very depths of the Tyrrhenian Sea staring straight back at him. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Although he was surprised to find that the irises in question were full of nervous energy. The blue in them almost rippled.

The redhead shuffled his feet skittishly as he cleared his throat. 

“I was thinking— or, well, I’m going to make dinner for myself, and... I can make some for you too? If you’d like?”

Oh?

Ron often brought food for himself in lunch boxes to eat at the shop while they worked, Blaise always ate out or got takeaway. The Gryffindor’s meals smelled delicious though, and Blaise would be more than happy to take some with him if given the chance. But he didn’t own containers – well, any kitchenware, except whiskey and champagne glasses. Maybe if he pointed that out then Ron could borrow him some kind of lunch box to use. 

“Thank you, but I don’t have any Tupperware with me,” he replied, cussing himself for being so unpractical in certain aspects of life. The redhead looked baffled. 

“What do you need Tupperware for?” 

The Slytherin’s brows furrowed.

“To carry the food home?” 

Ron blinked twice, then gave him an incredulous stare, neck craning.

“No you idiot, I mean you can eat at my house,” he snapped, but immediately looked like he regretted the harsh tone. “If you’d like that,” he added almost apologetically, voice going softer and quieter. 

Blaise could barely control the grin that threatened to assault his face as he studied Ron’s nervous but simultaneously hopeful expression.  

The Gryffindor was inviting Blaise to dinner? 

At his house? 

They were going to have dinner together, at Ron’s house. 

“I’d like that very much.” 

Relief flooded the redhead’s face. 

”Okay, leave at 7pm? We can walk over to mine?” he asked.

Blaise nodded, trying to smile like a nice, normal person. 

”Sounds good.” 

He was going to see Ron’s house. His home. Where he lived and breathed and read books and watched muggle tv and cooked and ate and slept. In his bed. He was going to see Ron’s bed. Or, well, he might not, maybe the redhead wouldn’t give him a full tour of the house, and it was probably for the best not to harbour too many hopes and dreams that involved Ron Weasley and a bed anyway. 

Perhaps though a shower… 

Get a fucking grip, Zabini. 

“Are you okay setting up the bell for the door?” the Gryffindor asked, motioning towards the entrance of the shop. A faint pink dusted the sides of his face, creating a pattern like in an ink blot test.

“Yeah, I’m just going to get the screwdriver from the office,” the Slytherin replied, walking towards the back as he spoke. 

Blaise had come to terms with the fact that he was obviously attracted to Ron. That, if given the chance, he would throw the redhead into his bed and quit his acquisitions and never leave his flat again and just fuck against every and all surfaces in his home until one or both of them perished of exhaustion. Blaise was also on week nine of not having sex, which was probably the longest he had gone without sex since... well, since he started having sex. His current abstinence may have fuelled his borderline feral lock-Ron-Weasley-in-his-flat-and-fuck-until-they-die fantasies. 

But he still wasn’t sure what to do with this whole... predicament. Blaise increasingly felt like they were actually flirting, with the redhead. Ron had stared at him that time when he was topless, made that comment about his muscles and skin, called him daddy – which, fuck, had really tested the limits of his self-control. And if the Gryffindor’s deliciously flushed cheeks were anything to go by, the attraction was mutual. But was that all it was? An attraction? What did Blaise himself even want? He knew he was not after a one-night stand, but what then? Friends with benefits? Casual dating was basically all he had done since school. Blaise knew casual, but he didn’t know much else. A pretty thing hanging off his arm from some days to some months, then moving onto the next. But that was not what he wanted with the redhead. 

On top of everything else, to make things even more complicated, they were bloody co-workers, and Ron’s brother was the partner of his most profitable business. If there was something he had learnt during his time being an entrepreneur it was not to shit where he ate, keeping professional side of things professional and personal life personal. Mixing the two was rarely a clever idea. Except if you were Lucrezia Zabini and planned to murder your husbands for profit, then mixing business with pleasure was a fruitful endeavour. 

Nevertheless, Blaise had always paid heed to sensible and good practices. But then again, he had never worked with Ron Weasley before. Sensible seemed to have flown out the window weeks ago, around the same time he had started buying packets of crisps to make the pretty redhead smile. 

The Slytherin let out a long, low sigh, standing in the backroom with the screwdriver. He needed to sort out this damn door chime now and not dwell on the juvenile musings of a crush. Blaise damn near felt like he was back at Hogwarts, a teenager trying to make sense of their first love. He walked back through the office door. 

Although perhaps it was better to keep the L-word out of the equation altogether. Tread cautiously, and so forth. Now, he would worry about this later, cross the bridge when he came to it, sort out his problems another time. He was instead going to allow himself to bask in the quietly growing excitement of getting to spend time with the redhead outside of their shop. 

Blaise grabbed a chair from behind the till and dragged it to the door, in order to reach its top corner to install the shopkeeper’s bell. With the chime in one hand and a screwdriver in the other he set to work. He knew basic spells to use regular tools with, but anything more complicated than this they left for the carpenter. 

The rest of the day went past in a blur; Blaise could barely concentrate on anything else except the fact that he was going to Ron’s house. With Ron. The two of them would spend the evening together, alone. It didn’t help that the Gryffindor kept dancing around him like a nervous butterfly, as the hours went on. It was unbelievably cute. 

Then the clock came to 7pm. Blaise was finishing things in the office as he glanced at his watch for what felt like the millionth time. He made his way out into the shop floor, where Ron was already waiting for him by the door.

”Ready?” He asked, gazing up at the taller man with shyer demeanour than the Slytherin was used to. He nodded. 

”Yes.” 

They closed the shop together, Blaise had never done it before, as he always left using the fireplace. Ron showed him all the locks, which key he needed to use for which latch, what charms he used to secure the building. The Slytherin bobbed his head as he watched the redhead’s hands work around the various parts of the door, but Blaise didn’t register anything the other wizard said. He hoped his brain managed to follow the process and store it in some not-so-fickle part of his mind.

The Gryffindor’s fingers were wonderfully nimble, though. He had plenty of ideas on other things they could—

Fucking stop it you pervert, Merlin’s bollocks. Do you have any self-control?

“Right, I’m this way,” the redhead said with a nudge of his head, as he pocketed the keys and his wand. He turned to look at Blaise with those big, blue, hopeful eyes. The Slytherin nodded and followed Ron’s lead as they started languidly walking to reach their destination. The sun was starting to approach the western horizon, not quite setting yet but inching towards it. It made the town bathe in a soft, warm light.

There was a fluttering feeling swelling inside the Slytherin’s chest, sickly anticipation of something, but he wasn’t sure what. It felt good, though. Warm, exciting, like a low buzz vibrating through his body. Blaise didn’t dare to speak as they strode along the cobblestone street, in case it broke some kind of spell between them. The Gryffindor did not try to start a conversation either. 

It didn’t take the pair long to arrive to a row of grey brick townhouses towards the edge of the village. Ron walked up the steps of the second one from the right, the Slytherin following a few beats behind him. There was a plant box below the front window, with dusty pink and lilac geraniums adoring the sill. They were beautiful, but not what Blaise had maybe expected. The redhead reminded him of a field of sunflowers, like that shirt Ron wore when they first met at the Diagon Alley shop. 

”It’s not very big or fancy but it’s mine,” the Gryffindor said as he opened the door, glancing over his shoulder before he stepped into the house. 

”It’s lovely,” Blaise replied as he followed the redhead inside. He noticed a shoe rack stacked with two rows of runners, boots, vans and even a pair of oxfords. “Shoes off?” he asked. The Gryffindor nodded with a smile. 

“Yes please.” 

Ron’s house smelled gorgeous, like a bakery, which finally explained why the redhead’s scent was always laced with something warm and sweet. The Slytherin started to look around in more detail as he toed off his shoes. The downstairs seemed to be a semi open floor plan, kind of like George and Harry’s place, there was a large arched cased opening that led to the front room on the right. Blaise figured the kitchen was behind the living room. There was another door at the back of the hallway, beside the staircase going up. The colour scheme was earthy but bright, wooden surfaces and a surprising number of lamps and fairy lights scattered around the hallway and what he could see of the front room, as well as wrapped around the banister beside the stairs. Blaise must have been staring at the winding strings of lights because Ron spoke up then. 

“I don’t really like overhead lights, so I have, uh, lamps and fairy lights and candles instead.” 

“I like them,” the taller man replied. Ron gestured towards the opening of the living room. 

“I need to set a few things up in the kitchen, it’s through here, and I’d rather get on with it straight away, but if you want to you can have a look around first? You can go into any room you want to,” he said, still aimlessly waving his hand at the doorway, “downstairs is the front room and the kitchen, that’s the toilet, and I have a garden in the back.” Then the redhead pointed upstairs. “The bedrooms are upstairs, and the bathroom.” 

Blaise swallowed at bedrooms. 

“Okay, I’ll go have a— I’ll go have a look.” 

Ron gave him another positively blinding smile, and then he disappeared through the archway. Blaise turned to face the stairs. 

Right. Ron’s bedroom. 

He started walking up the steps, holding onto the wooden banister. The string of the fairy lights felt sharp under his touch.

There were two doors on the right, and one at the back of the hallway. Blaise guessed the ones on the right were the bedrooms, the one in the back the bathroom.  

He started with the first door on the right, which he quickly figured out was the guest bed. The room was simple but lovely, the bedding and two of the walls were deep blue, with charmed glow in the dark stars and cascading strings of lights hung from the equally navy coloured ceiling. It was like Ron had purposefully made the room look like a night sky. He noticed a few children’s books lying on the wooden dresser, as well as a singular purple toy pony, but otherwise there weren’t many personal objects in sight. 

Blaise closed the door and moved onto the next one. His hand hovered over the doorknob for a beat before he grabbed it and twisted. 

Now, this room, this one was definitely Ron’s. 

One wall was green, one a burnt orange, one covered in photos and artwork. Some of it was clearly by professional artists, some by what Blaise could only assume were children, and Ron even had a framed Chudley Cannons pennant in the middle of the wall. The Slytherin chuckled softy under his breath as he let his eyes scan over some rather heart warming pictures of Ron with his friends and family. Theo and Pansy had both made the collection. 

The redhead was laughing or smiling in all the photos he was in. It made Blaise’s chest sting pleasantly. 

His eyes fell on the queen-sized bed, taking center stage both in his mind as well as the room. Its bedding was green with symmetric graphic patterns, and more pillows than Blaise had perhaps ever seen, on any bed. All varied colours: deep purple, green, teal, yellow, orange... some looked like they went meant for sleeping and some must have only been decorative. Because who the hell would sleep with a tiny brown velvet square? 

The Slytherin took another step into the room. There were wooden nightstands on either side of the bed, with funky looking lamps on both, books stacked on the one on the right. Some more were lying on the desk in front of the window, as well as a few notebooks, different sized candles, pens and quills neatly stored in appropriate holders. There were potted plants scattered all over the space, and a larger foot lamp beside the table. More fairy lights on the windowsill and the headboard of the bed, even hanging off the back of the comfy looking deep red armchair in the corner of the room. Some of Ron’s clothes were thrown over its side, Blaise recognised the shirt the redhead had worn yesterday. 

The fourth wall across from the bed was covered by floor to ceiling mirrored wardrobe doors, sliding ones. The Slytherin studied his own reflection, before he gazed around the room through the mirror, eyes landing on the bed again. It all felt so immensely personal, so lived-in, so excruciatingly Ron. And so drastically different to Blaise’s own plain, modern flat. 

Blaise kept staring at the plush bed. He walked over to it, let his hand run over the surface of the neatly made duvet, wondering in what position the Gryffindor liked to sleep in. On his stomach, with one leg propped up? Or on his back, arms above his head? Maybe on his side, knees tucked in, the perfect position for someone else to push their chest against his back, arms wrapping around a narrow waist. 

He sighed as his fingers slid off the soft fabric of the bedding, arm dropping back to his side. No need to get hung up on this now. The door clicked softly behind the Slytherin as he left. 

The last room was a large bathroom with a shower bath. The tiles were white and lemon yellow, and the bathroom had even more plants scattered around different surfaces. There were even floating shelves that had clearly been installed just so Ron was able to fit more plants in the room. One shelf was dedicated to the Gryffindor’s bathroom products. Blaise smiled fondly as he turned off the lights and closed the door. Then made his way back downstairs, turning left at the bottom and heading straight through the front room to where he assumed the kitchen was. 

And that’s where he found Ron, wearing an apron, shuffling around the kitchen with tomatoes and cheese on the counter. There was some kind of baked good covered by a tea towel resting by the window. 

”You bake?” Blaise asked as he stood in front of the floating island that separated the front room from the kitchen. The redhead let out a high-pitched squeak as he turned around with a little jump. 

“Fucking hell Blaise, you scared the shit out of me,” he whined, palms flat against his chest.  

The taller wizard chuckled. He couldn’t make himself feel all that sorry, not when Ron’s squeal had been so sweet. 

“My bad,” he still apologised, even though the grin on his face made it perfectly clear just how not sorry he was. Ron rolled his eyes as he gestured Blaise to take a seat by the small round wooden dining table. 

”I do bake,” the redhead clarified with a faint grin, as he glanced at the round dish covered by the tea towel. ”Helps me relax. Mum taught me after the war. I lived home that first year after Fred died, before me and Harry started Auror training. I didn’t want mum and George to be alone.” 

The corners of Ron’s mouth trembled slightly, tugging downwards, but he kept a brave face. ”Lost a brother but learned how to make delicious cakes! Seems like a fair trade-off,” he tried to jest, but it was only half hearted, at most. Blaise nodded understandingly, although he didn’t understand, at all. He couldn’t understand. He had never lost anyone he loved. 

The redhead continued shuffling around the small space. 

”I’m making lasagna, because— well, you know, you’re Italian and all,” he said, taking out butter from the fridge, “I prepped it already, it’s in the oven, but we just need to wait until it’s done. I’ll make us some sides while we’re at it.” 

Blaise quirked an eyebrow teasingly. 

”Oh, so you were planning to have me over before you even asked?” 

Ron blushed, and not just from the heat of the oven. 

”No, I just— or yes, I wanted to do something nice, you said— you said you miss Italy. So I thought I’d prepare in case you said yes,” he grumbled, crossing his arms, “you don’t have to stay if you’re gonna be a dick about it.” 

”I’m only joking Ron,” Blaise said fondly. Then his voice dropped to a deep murmur as he took in the scene before him. “I actually appreciate this. A lot.” More than you know. Especially the apron. Accentuates your waist beautifully. 

Ron gave the Slytherin a small, relieved smile with his cheeks still deliciously flushed. He turned back to focus on what he had been doing, the stick of butter still in hand. He made small content sounds as he shuffled around, pulling out some garlic and spices. 

Blaise let his gaze follow Ron as he prepared the meal, jumping from the stove to the fridge to the sink and back to the stove. The way the redhead moved in the kitchen was so natural and graceful that it made his chest ache. The whole scene was so fucking domestic, Ron preparing dinner for the two of them in his house, and Blaise just watching the humming Gryffindor. He wanted to touch the other man so bad, walk up to Ron from behind and press his groin against the other’s arse, wrap his arms around the shorter wizard, kiss the back of that freckled neck as he’d slowly rock their hips together. He was at half-mast just from watching the redhead cook. 

Fucking hell. 

“Do you need help?” the Slytherin asked. Ron shook his head. 

“No, but thank you.” 

”Gotta hand it to you, it’s a bold move to make lasagna for an Italian,” Blaise said, trying to divert his own attention to something other than how insufferably sexy the redhead looked in that moment. 

Ron glanced up at the Slytherin, dropping down to a squat in front of the oven as he checked its content. 

Oh sweet Salazar that arse. Juicy like a clementine. 

”What do you mean?” the redhead enquired, tilting his head to look at Blaise. 

Just, stop doing attractive, adorable things. 

”I basically grew up on my nonna’s lasagna, it’s a tough standard to meet.” 

Ron shrugged with a surprisingly confident smile as he got up again, turning his body to face the Slytherin. 

“I like a challenge. Would you like some wine?”  

”Please,” Blaise answered, watching as the Gryffindor grabbed a bottle from the counter, and then levitated two red wine glasses to the table. The taller wizard kept his eye on the label as the redhead used a corkscrew to twist the cork out of the bottle. ”A chianti?” 

The redhead turned the label towards himself so that he could read it as well. 

”It’s Italian, isn’t it?” he asked. 

”It is indeed,” Blaise replied, stomach swirling even without the alcohol in it. The Gryffindor started pouring the wine in both glasses the taller man watched. 

“Your house is really lovely by the way,” he then said, breaking the silence. 

“Thank you,” the redhead answered with a smile, gaze flickering from the bottle to the man by the table and back. 

“Is the guest bed modelled after a night sky?” 

Ron chuckled affectionately. 

“Yeah, it’s a bit silly, but I was choosing what to do with the room the same day I agreed to have Victoire over for a sleepover while Bill and Fleur were in France. So I thought it would be fun for Tori if she got to sleep in a room like a starry sky. Not very grown up though, is it.” 

Blaise smelled the wine, then tasted it. It was good. 

“I like it. I guess Victoire has made some of the art you’ve framed in your bedroom?” 

“Yeah, and Dominique, although Dom’s ones are mostly just paint handprints, she’s two years old,” Ron said, his expression growing tender. “Fleur is pregnant with their third now, a boy this time.” 

“I bet both girls love that guest bed,” The Slytherin stated, gazing at the finger painting on the wall of the kitchen, a big red round spot with smaller different coloured spots around it. Another one of Victoire’s masterpieces, he was sure. 

“They do,” the Gryffindor said, lifting his glass to his mouth, taking a sip, and then another one. “I have to somehow make sure I’m the funnest uncle! Cakes and star bedrooms have catapulted me into being their favourite.” 

Blaise nodded, trying not to stare at the faint red stains the wine left on the Gryffindor’s lips. “I bet.” 

Ron bounced around the kitchen some more, making a salad as well as some garlic bread that smelled ridiculous. Once he had the side dishes done and placed on the table in front of the Slytherin along with knives and forks, he turned to check the oven, seemed happy with what he saw and took the dish out. He turned his back to Blaise as the taller man watched the way his shoulders moved as he plated the food. 

Then he grabbed the two servings of lasagne and turned around to face the Slytherin. 

“Right, Blizzy—” 

“Absolutely not,” Blaise protested the new nickname, loudly. Ron ignored him. 

“—here we go!” the redhead quipped instead, the apples of his cheeks pink and delicious, as he presented the two platefuls of food, placing them down on the table. ”Lasagne al forno.” 

“Grazie,” the Slytherin thanked cheekily, “let’s see how you measure up to my nonnina then,” he continued with a smirk, grabbing his cutlery. He waited until Ron was sat down and then he dug in, lifting the first forkful to his mouth. 

The lasagne was... holy fuck, the lasagne was good. Better than good, it was drool-dripping-down-your-chin-when-you-try-to-eat level of delicious. 

”This is...”  Blaise said slowly after three mouthfuls, staring at the food in front of him with wonderment. “This is fucking great Ron.” 

The Gryffindor’s face turned a deeper shade of red, but he tried to cover it up with another playful eye roll. 

“Well don’t sound so surprised about it,” he joked, but there was no malice in his voice. Just appreciation, laced with a hint of embarrassment. The Slytherin shook his head, stunned. 

”No but this is like, restaurant level though,” he said, shovelling two big pieces into his mouth. The redhead shrugged. 

”Mum taught me to cook too.” 

“You must’ve spent hours in the kitchen then,” Blaise murmured after he managed to swallow another big mouthful. 

Ron expression turned melancholic again. He paused before he spoke. 

“George didn’t say a word for the first six months after Fred passed, and he barely ate anything. And mum was not doing great either, but when she taught me how to make food and pastries she was nearly herself, she was nearly likeshe used to be. So, I figured that if mum just taught me to cook and if I’d get George to eat, that then things would become... better. That mum and George would get better.” 

Blaise nodded, listening intently. The sadness that was embedded into Ron’s tight voice and the curves of his brow made the Slytherin’s heart clench. He wanted to take all that sorrow and store it somewhere where it couldn’t hurt the redhead, to carry its weight instead. Goodness knows Ron had faced enough tragedies in his life.

”And things did get better, George started eating eventually and mum got happier, so I kept cooking and baking. I guess it’s kind of gotten to the point that I feel like if I stop then things will start falling apart again.” 

It sounded like a confession. 

“Ron, you... you really care for your loved ones,” Blaise said, dipping his head in an attempt to catch the redhead’s eye as he stared at the food in front of him. Ron wouldn't look up so the Slytherin continued. 

“You do, you care for people, and it shows. It’s amazing what you’re ready to do for others.” 

The Gryffindor lifted his gaze, a small forlorn frown painting his face. 

“I just do what everyone else would, too,” he mumbled. Blaise reached out with his other hand, placing it on the table, halfway to the wizard sat across from him.

“Not everyone becomes a professional level chef to help their brother through grief, or cook with their mother so that she doesn’t feel alone,” he pointed out, “or turn their guest bedroom into a starry sky wonderland just because their niece comes over for a weekend.” 

Not everyone would go through the effort of doing all this just because I mentioned in passing that I miss Italy. 

Ron smiled shyly, eyes flickering from his food to the taller man’s face. They finished their meal in a comfortable silence, both stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. The Gryffindor got up to clean their plates, promising to give the rest of the lasagne to Blaise to take home with him. He started packing the food into a lunch box. Once he was finished, he grabbed two new smaller plates, bringing them over, before he got a jug from the fridge and a tub from the freezer. He placed them on the table and went to fetch the dessert. 

”Apple crumble, I know it’s not Italian, but I think it’s one of my better bakes,” Ron said as he sat down. “I didn’t know if you’d like custard or ice cream, so I got both,” he gestured at the jug and the tub. “Or, well, I made the ice cream. It’s vanilla.” 

Blaise just stared stupidly at all the different delicious looking things that were being presented to him. 

“This is— you made the ice cream?” 

“Yeah,” the Gryffindor said, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, “I have a muggle ice cream machine.” 

When the mixture of apple crumble, custard and ice cream hit the Slytherin’s tongue Gods themselves couldn’t have stopped the groan that escaped his mouth. 

“Fucking hell Ron,” he practically moaned. 

“Nice?” the Gryffindor asked, eyes eerily transfixed on Blaise’s expression. 

“Are you kidding me? This is unreal,” he replied, immediately shoving more ice cream into his mouth with abandon. 

They drank the wine and ate the crumble, Blaise helping himself to three servings of the dessert. Once the chianti bottle was empty, the Gryffindor took out some limoncello that the two of them sipped on while they talked about anything and everything, following any way the conversation took them. Before they knew it the clock hit 11PM. The Slytherin glanced at his wristwatch. His head was perfectly fuzzy from the wine and the liqueur and from Ron. 

“It’s getting late, I guess— I think I should probably head home, now,” he said, looking up at the redhead who nodded, standing up and walking over to the fridge to grab the container of leftover lasagne. He was only a little wobbly on his feet. 

Blaise grabbed the lunch box from Ron, their fingers brushing softly, eyes meeting, staring. Then the Slytherin started walking towards the front of the house, against his every instinct. 

I need to leave before I’m not able to anymore. 

He shuffled his feet back into his shoes and opened the door ajar. He turned around to face the redhead again, who was stood close enough in the hall, carefully watching his every move. 

“Thank you Ron,” Blaise murmured, taking a tentative step back into the house, as he placed the lunch box down on the narrow entryway table next to Ron’s house keys. “This was— I— I had a lovely evening.” 

The redhead smiled at him, looking up through his long pale lashes. 

He’s so stunning. 

“Me too,” Ron said, tugging at his hair again. They stood staring at each other, vibrating in a charged silence. The Slytherin could practically hear electricity crackling around them. 

Blaise needed to hug Ron, touch him any way he could. Needed to. So he took another step forward, arms jerking up from his sides, hoping the redhead would get the gist. And he did, as he too stepped towards the other, both slowly closing the distance between them. The Slytherin wrapped his arms around the redhead’s waist, pulling the smaller man flush against his body, chest to chest. Ron’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, head buried in the crook of Blaise’s neck, nose pressed against the side of the taller wizard’s throat. 

Blaise wanted to groan, moan, melt away from how good it felt to have Ron tucked against himself, in his embrace, arms tightly wound around the other man’s frame. It almost felt like he was keeping the redhead safe, protected in his hold, and some primal part of him damn near purred at the satisfying thought. Blaise inhaled as deeply as he could. The Gryffindor’s scent had never been stronger or sweeter than right there and then. 

Fuck. 

I’m hard. 

Blaise had to separate himself from Ron, before their hug crossed an invisible line into a space neither was ready to navigate. Not yet. 

They seemed to have shared the same thought, as both men then moved at once, taking a step back but angling their heads just so - Blaise downwards and Ron upwards - that their lips accidentally grazed together for half a second, before the redhead jerked away as his breath audibly hitched in his throat. 

The touch was so light, so brief and fleeting, that Blaise could probably convince himself it never happened if needed to. He could tell himself he simply imagined it, that he allowed his mind to play tricks on him, wishful thinking that he pictured too vividly. 

But the tingling on his lips was undeniable proof of their mouths brushing against one another’s. The warmth that the connection caused practically radiated to his fingertips that were now firmly pressed into Ron’s hip bones. When had he grabbed the redhead like this? And why did he constantly get short term amnesia around Ron? The Gryffindor’s palms had moved to rest on his chest, heavy against the thin material of his shirt that oh so rudely separated the pair from more skin-to-skin contact. 

Blaise did not want to let go. His grip tightened subconsciously, before he forced himself to relax his hold. 

“I— I’ll see you tomorrow? At the shop?” His voice was huskier than ever, not much above a growl. 

“Yes,” Ron sighed. He sounded so breathy it sent waves of shivers through the Slytherin, like a hot liquid dripping down his spine, filling his stiff prick and making it pulse. 

By some divine miracle Blaise managed to make himself let go of the redhead’s hips and take several steps backwards. His chest was falling and rising in heavy breaths as he let his eyes roam over Ron’s rosy cheeks, following the beautiful colour down that long, slender neck. 

“Good night, Ron,” he murmured when their eyes met again. 

“Night Blaise,” the Gryffindor whispered back. Then Blaise whipped around, went down the steps to the street and started walking. With a final glance at the wizard still standing by the open door, he turned on his heel and disappeared with a crack. 

He reappeared near his flat in London. 

Fucking hell. 

The Slytherin ran a frustrated hand over his buzzcut as he started walking, adjusting his trousers as he went. It was difficult to walk with a boner swinging around your pants, straining against the fabric. He hoped the cool night air would help to steady his head and heart. Both felt like they were spinning.

The bridge he had told himself he's cross when he came to it was closer than he had perhaps thought. In fact, he seemed to be staring at that very bridge, right now.

But Blaise didn’t date co-workers, he didn’t mix his professional life with his private. Blaise didn’t date seriously per se, he hadn’t in years. Blaise did not want a romantic partner.

But he wanted Ron.

Crap.