Chapter Text
On their journey, it quickly became apparent that Ron didn’t have the slightest inkling of where they were going. And the longer he followed Blaise, the more concerned he became. Yet, he chose to say nothing.
After two apparition points and what felt like hours of walking, they arrived at a desolate place in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by overgrown weeds and far from any wizarding civilization.
Ron furrowed his brow, glancing around nervously. Walking up a stone path, the two boys reached a tall iron gate, a shoulder-high brick wall running along either side, coiling around the property.
Blaise withdrew his wand, tapping the lock with a silent spell and pulling the gate open with a long creak.
Despite the entrance looking quite abandoned, with vines growing through and around the brick, the inside seemed rather well-kept, with the pristine appearance of a flowery garden that flourished despite the gloomy weather.
Following Blaise who still didn’t utter a word, Ron couldn’t help but gawk at the impressive structure at the end of the short path. Tall and dark with spiraled architecture, standing imposing and foreboding at the center of the property.
Ron wondered if Blaise had been leading him to his family’s manor, but as they drew closer, He noticed the words “The Adler Library” engraved in stone above the entrance.
The Weasley boy had never known much about libraries, nor did he care for them, that was more Hermione’s thing. But Ron had truly no idea where he was, and he wished his friend were here so he could ask her.
He figured he could simply ask Blaise, he had led him here after all. Ron was about to open his mouth when he felt that he could not go any further. Looking down at his feet, he saw a thick vine wrapped around his ankle, cutting off most of his circulation.
“Blaise! What is this?” He exclaimed in alarm, attempting to kick it off. Yet the more he struggled, the tighter it seemed to grip him.
The Slytherin turned around just in time to see the vine wrap itself around Ron’s other leg, pulling him down and off his balance. But Blaise reacted swiftly, catching the Gryffindor before he could hit the ground and pulling him back to his feet.
“Hold still, Weasley. They react to sudden movements.” He muttered, his wand already in hand as he cast some incantation that caused the vines to retract and release the other boy.
Ron took a moment to gather himself, taking a step away from The Zabini to take a deep breath, their close proximity not helping his already racing heart.
“What the bloody hell was that?”
Blaise straightened his posture at his tone, shoulders tense. “The garden is spelled to throw out anyone without Zabini blood. I forgot to mention it to you beforehand.”
Ron stared at him, eyebrows raised. “So I could’ve been thrown over the hedge like a ragdoll and you didn’t think to warn me?”
The Slytherin boy had the decency to look mildly sheepish. “My mind isn’t what it usually is lately. But you should be fine now that I’ve spelled them off you.” Ron only huffed at Blaise’s attempt at reassurance. He sighed, forcing himself to meet Ron’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Blaise said, surprised that the words didn’t feel as difficult to say as they usually did. “Are you hurt at all?”
Ron was slightly taken aback, not having expected the sincere tone. “No, I’m fine.” He mumbled, feeling the fight leave him. There was no point in insisting on his anger, he had been expecting a certain level of paranoia from Blaise given his present circumstances.
With a short nod, Blaise turned and continued up the path, Ron following close behind, taking weary steps.
Once they reached the towering doors of the library, the Gryffindor had to wait as Blaise went through the motions of deactivating more protective enchantments. He wouldn’t be surprised if a dragon was also guarding the entrance.
The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open and the pair stepped inside. Ron stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he took in the grandeur of the place. There were towering shelves filled with books lining every inch of the walls, multiple desks lined up in the center of the room, and a mighty fireplace at the far end
It erupted into life when Blaise stepped in, decorated with intricate carvings at the mantle of gargoyles and other magical creatures the Weasley boy couldn’t quite name. The warm glow of the fire cast twisting shadows along the light stone walls, the crackle of wood filling the quiet air.
Despite the intimidating facade that was the library’s exterior, the interior was much more inviting than what Ron had expected. His eyes fell onto one of the large portraits that decorated the walls. A pale man with slicked-back hair, a thick beard, and rather fat fingers stared down from the gilded frame.
“Who’s that bloke?” Blaise’s gaze followed Ron’s, settling on the painting that didn’t move, unlike the ones at Hogwarts.
The Slytherin sighed, rolling his dark eyes in mild annoyance. “My mother’s third husband. Alf Adler - the founder of this library. We inherited it when he passed. Since my mother had no use for it, she left it to my custody.”
Ron tilted his head back, scanning his eyes over the roof curiously and raising his brow. “Right. A dark, haunted library. Sounds like a normal Saturday for your lot.”
The other boy let out a quick huff of laughter but masked it with a cough when Ron looked his way. “I can assure you it’s not haunted. Alder was far too dull of a man to be a ghost.”
Ron paused for a moment, before chuckling softly at his remark. Blaise responded with a quizzical look, not understanding the other amusement, but enjoying it nonetheless.
“Sorry for the loss?” The red-haired boy offered, unsure of how to respond.
Blaise only scoffed. “Don’t be, he was arrogant and utterly characterless. Although I suppose most powerful wizards are.”
The floorboards creaked under Zabini's feat as he made his way to one of the old wooden tables, books, and papers scattered over its surface.
“Take a seat, Weasley.” The boy gestured to the chair opposite to the side of the table he was standing at. Ron obliged, folding his arms on the table as he watched Blaise clear the mess.
“So, what are we looking for? You didn’t exactly explain what dark magic you’re dealing with.”
Blase grabbed his bag and unwrapped the books he had bought earlier that day, carefully selecting one with a cracked spine, and began flipping through the aged pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Anything related to keeping people out of certain places. And cause,” He trailed off for a moment, pulling out his chair to sit, “Irking side effects.”
“Got it.” Ron nodded, despite not being entirely familiar with the definition of the word irkling. Judging from Zabini’s tone, it probably wasn’t good.
The Weasley reached forward and grabbed a book in the center of the table, leaning back and running his hands through his hair as he flipped it open on a random page. The boy’s eyes widened as he gasped. “Bloody hell…”
Blaise snapped his head up, eyes widened slightly. “What is it? Did you find something?”
Ron shook his head, eyes glued to the page. “No, it’s this-” He turned the book around so Blaise could see. “There’s a whole section of only torture spells, one of them makes the victim never blink again!”
Blaise blinked, taken aback as he processed the sudden shift in conversation. But he didn’t react, his gaze turning unfocused as if he were lost in thought. Half a second passed and he flicked his eyes up to meet Ron’s gaze once again, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
“That sounds like an eye-opening experience,” The Slytherin boy deadpanned, watching the Gryffindor’s reaction with an expectant expression.
Ron stared at him for a moment with squinted eyes, eyebrows knitted together in confused consideration before a slow grin spread across his face as the realization dawned on him. “Was that a joke, mate?”
Blaise nodded slightly, momentarily regretting his entire existence. “Was it bad?”
The other boy laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, no, it was brilliant. Just didn’t know you had it in you, Blaise.”
A small tinge of pride swelled in Blaise’s chest at the compliment, though he quickly smoothed his expression once more, returning his attention to the book in front of him.
The two boys continued their search in relative silence, occasionally one of them would let out a soft hum or sigh to indicate they had found something worth noting, but for the most part, the only sounds were the rustling of pages and the sound of the fireplace.
As the hours ticked by, Ron realized that this was much less boring than he had expected. The presence of the Slytherin wasn’t as unpleasant as he had anticipated, and Blaise seemed comfortable with the silence. His only complaint was how much reading was involved.
Ron didn’t even look through these many books and scrolls when he was studying for his exams at Hogwarts. He and Harry mostly just used Hermione’s notes.
At some point, he could no longer focus, his eyes trailing over the words, but none translating into his brain. He grunted in frustration, attempting to read over the page again, only to obtain the same results.
Eventually, he simply gave up and simply let his mind wander, glancing up at Blaise, the other boy’s eyebrows furrowing and unfurrowing as he read, taking short notes on a paper he had set to the side.
“Blaise, mind if I ask you something?” If Ron’s mind were working properly, he would’ve known that what he was about to ask was a bad idea. But his brain wasn’t working properly.
The Slytherin looked up from his book. “Anything.”
Ron leaned forward slightly. “Is it true that your mum offs’ all her husbands?”
He regretted his words the very moment they left his mouth. Who knew books could make you braindead too?
Blaise stared at him for a long moment, eyes unblinking, before slowly closing his book. His neutral expression had a hint of a scowl as his eyes narrowed on the red-head, his gaze darker than before.
“I would appreciate it if you did not speak of such baseless rumors about my family, Weasely.” His voice was low and calm, but Ron could hear the sharp edge to it.
Ron swallowed hard, his mouth slightly dry. Blaise was staring daggers at him so intensely that he could almost feel them piercing his skin. He had never looked at him like that before.
“Right, sorry, I didn’t mean-” He started to apologize, but Blase cut him off.
“ Exactly , you didn’t. The deaths of my mother’s spouses were all coincidental and unrelated to her in any way. Each loss was a tragedy that we mourned, but they were tragedies caused by unforeseeable circumstances, not malicious intent.”
The way Blaise spoke was so formal and controlled like he was reading off of a sheet of paper, each word practiced and calculated. It disturbed Ron, to say the least.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, mate.”
Blaise opened his mouth to speak again, but cut himself off, turning his face away and inhaling through his nose, his fist clenched midair before slowly lowering it back to the table.
“I know you didn’t. Let's just... get back to work, shall we?" He spoke quietly, gluing his eyes to the book in front of him once more.
Ron nodded, though the other boy wasn’t looking at him.
It only took a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and Blaise’s leg bobbing up and down beneath the table before Ron couldn’t take it anymore. He looked up, noting how rigid the Slytherin’s posture was.
For a moment he considered apologizing again, but he didn’t think that would help the situation.
Instead, he picked up the book he had been reading through and tentatively stood up from his seat at the table, making his way over to one of the small couches against the wall between the high bookshelves.
He settled down on it, and the distance seemed to help, Blaise’s leg having slowed to a halt and no longer shaking the table.
After a while, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate slightly, both boys focusing on their research. But the silence did last for much longer.
Ron nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Blaise’s chair dragging against the floorboards. He looked up to see the other boy carefully rising to his feet and crossing the room to where Ron sat.
The Gryffindor watched as Blaise approached, wondering if he was about to get cursed or something, but the Slytherin simply came to a stop in front of the couch and sat down beside him.
Blaise didn’t speak right away, instead, he stared down at his lap, fiddling with the ring on his finger, twisting it around and around.
Ron glanced around awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself, “Um, you find anything useful-”
“I didn’t mean to speak to you that way,” Blaise cut him off, still not meeting his gaze.
Ron blinked in surprise, unsure if he should respond. “It’s okay, it was a stupid question anyway.” He murmured, setting the book down.
Blaise nodded. “Yes, it was. But I shouldn’t have been so abrasive. I… I don’t like talking about it. The rumors about my mother, I mean.” He continued to pick at his ring, and for the first time since Ron had ever heard Blaise speak, he sounded uncertain.
“I’m constantly questioned about it by papers like the Daily Prophet, and it’s always been frustrating. So when you asked…” He trailed off with a soft sigh. “It was a trained response.”
Blaise finally looked up, his dark eyes locking with Ron's. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to not talk to me because of it.”
The Gryffindor tensed, folding his legs up on the couch as he tried to process Blaise’s words. If he hadn’t known what to say before, he certainly didn’t know now.
The air was tense, and Ron didn’t want to leave the pause for too long like he usually did. So he cleared his throat and slightly leaned towards the other boy.
“Does this mean I can ask whatever I want now?”
Blaise’s expression lost all hint of timorous regret, quickly replaced by an unimpressed glare. However, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes. Ron didn’t know when he started picking up on those subtleties.
“It’s not my fault you're a secretive brood!” Ron blustered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The Slytherin nudged his shoulder with his own, bringing his hand up to his face to hide his amused grin.
“I’ll make you a deal, Weasley.” Ron tilted his head slightly, prompting Blaise to continue. “I will answer your questions if you agree that we are speaking hypothetically and that nothing that is said leaves this room.”
Ron considered Blaise's proposition for a moment, his own guard up slightly before he nodded once.
"That was a bit melodramatic, but alright, I agree.” Blaise quirked up an eyebrow.
“Swear it?”
Ron rolled his eyes a bit. “Solemnly, Zabini."
The corners of Blaise's mouth twitched upwards as he nodded.
“Very well.”
There was a very brief beat of silence as Ron slowly rocked where he sat. Unsure if he had been given free rein to ask whatever he wanted, he cleared his throat, turning to fully face his usually elusive classmate.
“So, hypothetically, your mum did kill all those blokes, didn't she?"
Blaise stared absentmindedly for a moment as if he was carefully considering his response, before leaning back into the couch. “Hypothetically, yes. Just not the first one.”
Ron’s eyes widened and he shifted, turning entirely towards the other boy. “Oh, I didn’t know that…” The boy trailed off for a moment, then he continued. “So, hypothetically, how does she kill them? Is it like the Killing Curse or...?"
A slight crease formed between his brows as he huffed out a soft, unamused scoff. “Please, Weasley. My mother has much more class than that.”
The red-headed boy cocked his head to the side questioningly, waiting for further explanation.
Blaise sighed, crossing one leg over the other. “She either uses poison or arranges an unfortunate accident. Hypothetically, of course.”
Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Blaise's revelation, laughing through his nose. “Yeah… right.”
He had always known that Blaise’s mother was a formidable witch, but he hadn't expected her to be capable of something like this. But he supposed that he had never expected to be sitting with Blaise Zabini talking about Mariticide either.
Ron leaned forward, eyes locked on Blaise's face. “So, hypothetically… Does it ever bother you?”
Blaise’s gaze hardened, but only for a moment before he leaned back into the couch again, his eyes flying back onto his ring. “Hypothetically… sometimes. But she’s my mother, and family is… complicated.”
The boy’s shoulders dropped, his thumb running over the band of the ring in a slow, almost rhythmic motion. “But family nonetheless. I’m supposed to protect her, like she does with me. For better or worse.”
Ron considered Blaise's words, allowing the gravity of their conversation to sink in. He couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy, but he didn’t let it show.
Instead, he gave Blaise a small, slightly lopsided smile.
“I get that. My family can be a bit crazy too, but you do what you can. Stick together, right?"
Blaise glanced up at him, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Right.”
They sat in silence, and Ron watched as the other boy tugged his ring on and off again and again. It was oddly mesmerizing, and he found his gaze drawn to Blaise’s hands. His dark skin, his long fingers, and defined knuckles-
“Thank you.” Ron blinked, tearing his gaze away as Blaise's soft voice cut through the quiet. Merlin, he hoped he hadn’t noticed him staring.
“For not acting like an imbecile. I know the conversation was irregular…” He finally met the other boys’ eyes, and there was a warmth there that Ron hadn't seen before. “… but I appreciate you listening."
Ron’s mouth felt suddenly dry, and he swallowed thickly before finding his voice again. “Of course, mate. What are friends for?”
Blaise paused for a moment, his eyes widening fractionally before a small, genuine smile spread across his face, and he tilted his head back down to remove it from view. “Yeah… friends.” He hummed softly to himself.
Sensing another silence coming on, Ron worried he would find himself watching Blaise’s hands again, and was quick to fill it. “I get it by the way.”
“Get what?”
“The killing your husband for his money thing.” He shrugged, folding his arm over the back of the couch. “If you were my husband, I’d probably kill you.”
The Zabini bit back a smile, looking over at the boy through his eyelashes. “If you were my husband, I’d let you.”
What?
For a moment, Ron simply stared at the other boy, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t deny the fluttering in his stomach, and he felt positively ridiculous. Was this normal? Was this what girls felt like when they spoke to Blaise? Did he-
No. No. Don’t even think about it. Stupid idea.
Clearing his throat, he was acutely aware of how close they were sitting and attempted to laugh off the sudden rush of nervousness. “Was that another joke?”
The dark-haired boy’s expression fell back into its’ neutral state once more, and he sat up straighter. “No.”
Ah.
Ron watched Blaise’s movements as the SLytherin stood up from where he sat, his gaze flickering away before their eyes could meet again. “I believe we never finished our research, Weasley. Care to continue?”
By what was clearly a miracle, Ron found his voice again, even though he could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
He stood as well, and the very moment the slytherin turned towards the table, Ron smacked his fist against his chest, forcing himself to get a bloody grip already. What was wrong with him?
The evening settled into night, the moon hanging high amongst the stars as it shone light into the library. Books long forgotten lay on the table, their pages welcoming the quiet, just as the two boys did. Amongst the dark spells and macabre themes, it was strangely peaceful. Comfortable.
Time passed slowly, but surely, their fingers brushing together as they paced books and pens. Blaise was the first to grow tired but forced himself to remain awake. Ron eventually got him to take short breaks, though he wouldn’t sleep. Simply wrest his head on folded arms and watch the other boy work.
He traced his eyes over Ron’s features, the soft curve of his mouth, the freckles dusting his nose, the furrowed wrinkles on his forehead as he read. Some of his red hair had fallen in his eyes, and Blaise imagined himself reaching forward and tucking it behind his ear.
But he was not as brave a man as he appeared. So he did not.
At some point, Blaise made tea, setting it on the table. The heated ceramic burnt Ron’s fingers. “Blimey!” He snapped. And Blaise laughed. A soft, amused, and ever so small sound.
It was one of the most brilliant things he had ever heard. And for some reason the scared him more than anything else about the mysterious boy.
~~~
With a book for a pillow, Ron woke up still at Blaise’s library desk, wincing at the stiffness in his neck after sleeping in such an awkward position.
Sighing, he lazily turned his half-open eyes to the grandfather clock across the room, which read around 2:00 AM.
It seemed Blaise had finally given into sleep at some point in the night, his arms folded on the table and his head resting peacefully on top of them. He almost looked pret-
Wait.
2:00 AM?
Ron shot up, suddenly fully alert, scrambling to gather his things. “Mate! Mate, wake up!” Blaise stirred slightly, blinking slowly as he raised his head to meet Ron’s panicked expression.
“I swear I nod off for one minute-” Ron started, running his hand through his tousled hair.
“What’s wrong?” Blaise asked in a sleep-filled voice that did absolutely nothing to settle his nerves.
“It’s two o’clock in the bleeding morning, mate! That’s what’s wrong!” He cried frantically. Though the slytherin only blinked, seemingly confused
“Night, Blaise! I’ll make my way!”
“Are you sure-” But Ron was running out the doors before he could even finish his sentence.
~~~
The Burrow was silent as Ron carefully cracked open the door, wincing as it creaked oh-so-loudly. With a relieved sigh, he shut the front door. He was in the clear.
Click.
A light had been flicked on. “Ronald Billius Weasley!” His mother’s disgruntled voice rang in his ear. And with much hesitation, he turned to face her wrath.
“Where have you been?” She hissed, her face red with both anger and worry.
“I’m sorry, mum-”
“Do you know how worried I was? Do you think you can just run off and come back whenever you feel like it?"
Ron resigned himself to his fate, but he couldn’t help but argue. “I was with Blaise.” He winced at his own words, knowing full well that would not help his face.
However, to his surprise, his mother’s expression softened. “Oh… well I suppose that’s alright. I hear he’s a nice boy.”
Ron could only stare at her, completely bewildered. His mother wasn’t a murderer, but she was rather odd. “What?”
With a wave of her hand, she shooed him off. “Don’t go thinking you’re off the hook. I’ll think of your punishment later. Now off to bed.”
“Yes, mum.” With his head hung low, from both shame and fatigue, he made his way up to his room, drooping into his bed without a second thought.
As tired as he was, he figured he should at least take off his coat. But when he sat up to shrug it off and throw it to the floor, he stopped.
This wasn’t his.
He was wearing Blaise’s coat.