Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Like a fool, I fell in love with you. Turned my whole world upside down."

Eric Clapton

Soft laughter sounded from the corner of the room Blaise was resolutely ignoring. At some point in the last few weeks, he’d stopped trying so hard to avoid Seamus and Dean, but it was moments like this that made him want to run to the furthest end of the Hogwarts grounds. He didn’t quite know why he was still so angry—no part of him wanted Seamus back, but seeing him so happy with Dean just seemed to be a constant reminder that Blaise had only ever been a placeholder.

He sighed loudly and folded the letter he’d been trying to write—there was no chance of concentrating with those two in the room together. He collected his things and was about to open the door when it swung open, nearly knocking him over.

“Merlin—sorry, Blaise,” Draco said, stepping inside. “You heading out?”

“Yes,” he said curtly, not desiring to stay in the room any longer than necessary.

“Okay, I was just picking up my things to go study,” Draco said, walking around Blaise to his bed. “Wait a moment and I’ll walk out with you.”

Another burst of laughter sounded from Seamus and Dean. Blaise frowned. “Actually, I’m in a rush. I’ll see you later,” he said, stepping out the door quickly and rushing down the stairs.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the common room and slowed his pace as he began walking in the direction of the owlery.

“You walk slowly for someone in a rush.”

Blaise turned around to see Draco raising his eyebrows at him. “I thought you were studying?” he said, to avoid addressing Draco’s unasked question.

“That’s where I’m going next—I just wanted to know why you ran out of the dorm room as soon as I arrived,” Draco said in what Blaise knew he thought was a casual voice.

“Draco, darling—not everything is about you. Sometimes I want to make a dramatic exit for reasons that are completely my own,” Blaise said, trying to inject humour into his voice to convince Draco there was no need to question further.

Draco gave him a look that suggested he failed. “You say that, but this is exactly how you were acting at the beginning of term. If I’ve done something I want to know.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Blaise sighed, a sense of guilt washing over him as he realised Draco was taking the blame for his anger at Seamus and Dean. He took a deep breath and forced out the truth. “I just don’t love our dorm assignments, okay?"  

“What? You don’t like the Gryffindors?” Draco said, sounding unsurprised. “That’s not hard to guess.”

“It’s not that I don’t like Gryffindors,” Blaise said. “I just don’t like the ones we’re roomed with.”

“I know, Seamus and Dean can be loud and annoying,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s not for that long—tell them to cast a silencing charm.”

Blaise sighed and looked away, trying to ignore the tight feeling settling in his chest. “I’d rather not speak to them, actually,” he said curtly.

Draco furrowed his brow. “Why do you hate them so much? Have I missed something? Did you have some fight with them in sixth year?”

Blaise laughed dryly. “Quite the opposite actually.”

Draco looked confused for a moment, then his mouth fell open. “You…?”

“Merlin, don’t make me spell it out. Just give me a warning next time Seamus is in the dorm room okay?”

Draco’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yeah—yeah, okay.”

Blaise sighed and looked out the window—the grounds had been covered with thick snow and he tried to focus on the scenery instead of their conversation. “I should be over it,” he muttered. “Seamus loves to show how over it he is.”

“Seamus can be thicker than a mountain troll,” Draco said. “You’re better off with someone who can keep up with you.”

Blaise looked at Draco for a moment, then back out the window. He recalled the letter he was sending. “Yeah, maybe. I really do have to go send this letter.”

“Okay,” Draco said. “Anyone interesting?”

Blaise glanced down at the letter in his hand. For some reason, he decided to tell Draco the truth. “Ron Weasley, actually.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Weasley? Since when do you two correspond?”

Blaise shrugged, an unfamiliar movement. “Recently.”

“Right,” Draco said, shaking his head. “Guess we really are in new times.”

“Guess so,” Blaise said, deciding not to elaborate further—Draco knew all he needed to at the moment.

“Okay,” Draco said, grinning. “Let me know if you want me to jinx Seamus.”

“Thanks,” Blaise said, smiling back at him. “I will.”

“Anytime,” Draco said, waving and turning back to the common room.

Blaise shook his head and turned to continue his walk to the owlery. It was a strange relief to have told Draco about Seamus—part of him had known for a long time that he ought to tell Draco, but admitting to it had been difficult. It was another reminder of why he hadn’t been able to tell Draco at the time and he was honestly still ashamed of the whole thing. Falling for Seamus Finnegan definitely listed high on the most embarrassing things he’d ever done. But Draco hadn’t laughed at him for it—in fact he hadn’t seemed all that bothered by it, really. Blaise supposed they’d all changed since they were sixteen and maybe that was a good thing.

The cold air rushed at him as he stepped outside. Someone had shovelled the path to the owlery and Blaise was glad he didn’t have to attempt to push his way through the snow. Still, he tugged his cloak around him to shield himself from the cold as he made his way to the owlery, carefully pushing the letter he’d been writing into his pocket. The owlery wasn’t his first choice of where to write a letter—usually he tried to spend as little time there as possible—but it was really his only choice at the moment.

He leant against a window ledge when he arrived, pulling his letter out and smoothing the parchment. He’d been in the middle of replying to a letter Ron had written—something about the way Ron wrote always brought a smile to his face. He wrote exactly like he spoke, with no pretence of formality. It was as though the words were written on the page as fast as he thought them, with no filter between the thought and what was written. His last letter had been excitedly talking about the new inventions he’d been working on with George. It seemed surprisingly fitting that Ron had stepped in to help with his brother’s joke shop—it was just the kind of caring and brilliant thing that he would do without thought.

Blaise had been startled, at first, when he noticed how effortlessly clever Ron was. It was as though he didn’t even realise it—in fact, Blaise got the impression that Ron didn’t think of himself as smart at all. But the ideas he wrote about and the invention and adaptations of spells required to achieve them was nothing short of brilliant—and Ron wrote about it as though it was an afterthought. He wrote about his Auror training too, though he’d said he wasn’t allowed to write as much about that—apparently the Aurors were very private.

Blaise bent over his letter, trying to think of something good to say and wishing he could write as easily as Ron—forget about his appearance for once like Ron apparently could. The problem was, each letter Ron wrote intrigued Blaise more and made him feel more nervous to respond, certain Ron would realise that Blaise wasn’t worth his time. Yet he kept writing, speaking as though they were friends and apparently not caring about who exactly Blaise was—or had been.

The more letters they exchanged, the more Blaise wanted to write. He’d started writing letters as soon as he received them, acting like the eager schoolboy he supposed he was. He knew Ron was the same age, but the fact that Blaise was writing to him from school while Ron was out there, training at the Ministry and inventing things for his brother’s shop made Blaise feel childish. Almost everything about Ron made him feel nervous and eager to impress in a way he hadn’t felt in some time—in a way that might concern him if he ever let himself dwell on the thought. If there was one thing Blaise was good at, it was distractions.

He finished writing his letter and rolled it carefully, calling one of the owls he trusted over to deliver the letter. He tied the note carefully and stepped back to allow the owl to fly away. He watched it fly into the distance, thinking perhaps the Owlery wasn’t such a bad place to stay for a while. He was sure Draco was studying with Hermione—they had taken to doing that quite regularly at the moment, though both continued to insist they were only friends. Blaise had finished much of his schoolwork, and given Christmas break was coming up, he didn’t feel too much pressure to be studying at that particular moment.

“Zabini?” A voice from behind him disrupted Blaise’s thoughts. He turned around to see Ginny Weasley looking at him curiously.

“Hello, Weasley,” Blaise said pleasantly—he’d spent little time with this Weasley, but he’d found her to be quite entertaining. “What brings you here?”

“Just visiting the owls,” Weasley said. She smirked when Blaise gave her a bemused look. “I’m sending a letter.”

“Right—well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing, then?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and glancing towards Blaise’s empty hands.

“Same as you,” Blaise replied, not liking that she had somehow one-upped him.

“Right—and then you decided to just hang out with the owls for a bit.”

“Maybe—better than trying to join Draco and Hermione,” Blaise said, hoping that dropping this information might get Weasley to reveal what she knew. Draco had been quite cagey about their time together, but he knew Hermione was friends with Weasley.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “They’re studying together again?” she asked, nudging an owl forward.

“Seem to be,” Blaise said, watching her carefully.

“Interesting,” Weasley said, tying her letter and directing the owl out the window.

“You think?” Blaise asked.

“You know it is,” she said, looking over at him. “I want to know what exactly you know, however.”

Blaise paused. “Only if you tell me what you know.”

Weasley chuckled. “Not much—Hermione’s a private person.”

Blaise sighed loudly. “There goes my hopes that you’d reveal some hidden truth to me—Draco’s been awfully quiet about the whole thing too.”

“Looks like we’ll have to pool our resources, then,” Weasley said, grinning.

“Perhaps—I thought you would be against this, though,” Blaise said, furrowing his brow.

“Why?” Weasley asked.

“You and Ron seem close—I thought you’d be on his side,” Blaise said, looking closely for a reaction.

“I’m always on his side—but he doesn’t want to get back together with Hermione,” Weasley said, shrugging. “So I don’t see any harm in trying to figure out what’s going on with her and Malfoy.”

“Ron doesn’t want to get back with her?” Blaise asked, curiously. Despite their first conversations having danced around his break-up with Hermione so many times, Blaise and Ron had discussed it very little. Blaise had been partly afraid to ask if Ron still had feelings for her—though he didn’t know what he was afraid of.

“No,” Weasley said, then looked at him curiously. “Since when are you on a first name basis with my brother?”

“We exchange letters,” Blaise said in what he hoped was a haughty tone.

Weasley snorted. “ That I did not expect.”

“It’s not that strange,” Blaise said, a little defensively.

“I wasn’t saying it was—I’m just surprised Ron hasn’t mentioned it.”

“You speak a lot?” Blaise asked, surprised. He knew Ron was close with George, but he hadn’t realised he was close with his sister, too—was all his family like this?

Weasley shrugged. “We like to keep in contact.”

“Is that who your letter was to?” Blaise asked, curiously.

Weasley shook her head. “No—that was to Harry.”

“Ah—of course,” Blaise said, nodding.

“Is that who your letter was to?” Weasley replied.

“Harry Potter?” Blaise asked, feigning ignorance. “We aren’t exactly the kind to exchange letters.”

Weasley rolled her eyes. “Ignoring the question like that just tells me I’m right.”

“Perhaps—I don’t need to confirm it for you, however,” he said, trying to remain nonchalant. “I like to keep an air of mystery.”

“Of course you do,” Weasley said, sighing. “Like Draco and Hermione.”

“Those two don’t know how to keep a secret—how long did it take for you to figure them out the first time?” he asked as they began walking down the stairs.

“Depends which part you mean—I knew there was someone Hermione was meeting with back in their third year, but I didn’t figure out it was Draco until the end of their fourth year,” Weasley said, glancing over at Blaise. “When did you know?”

“I got it out of him at the Yule Ball—he was so furious that Krum asked her.”

“Merlin—just like Ron,” Weasley said, chuckling.

“He was jealous, too?” Blaise asked, feeling oddly irritated.

“Yeah,” Weasley said, apparently not noticing Blaise’s annoyance. “Don’t know if it was more of Hermione or Krum, though.”

“What do you mean?” Blaise said quickly.

“He was obsessed with Krum back then,” she said, shrugging. “I think he hated that Hermione got to spend time with him as much as the fact that she was going with someone else.”

“He’s not obsessed with Krum now?” Blaise asked, trying not to sound as curious as he was.

“Nah—not after that,” Weasley said, shaking her head.

“Good—he’s a prick.”

Weasley raised her eyebrows at him. “I agree, but why do you think so?”

Blaise looked at her for a moment, trying to decide whether to reveal what he knew. Deciding it was too long ago to matter much, he spoke. “Draco befriended him when he arrived and told him a little about his crush on Hermione—next thing he knew, Krum was taking her to the Yule Ball."

Weasley gaped at him. “Wow—he really was a jerk. I just didn’t like him because he always seemed to be a bit of a creep.”

“I agree,” Blaise said, then turned to grin mischievously at Ginny. “See what we can do when we work together, Weasley? We’ll have Hermione and Draco figured out in no time.”

“You’re right,” she said, a grin to match his spreading across her face. “But I don’t like that you’re on a first name basis with Ron and Hermione and you’re still calling me Weasley.”

“Right,” Blaise said, nodding. “Tell me what you know, Ginny.”

Ginny looked at him as though she was sizing him up as he pushed open the castle doors. “I’ve told you—I don’t know much. But I was planning on looking for her this afternoon.”

“For a casual catch up?” Blaise asked in a falsely innocent voice.

“Exactly,” Ginny agreed.

“Well, last I heard she was in our common room—and I happen to have no problem letting you in.”

“Really? I thought you’d be all secretive about that,” Ginny said, surprised.

“The Slytherin Common Room, yes—this one I feel less need to keep secret,” Blaise said simply.

“Right—wouldn’t want anyone to find out about that hidden common room under the lake,” Ginny said, smirking.

“How do you—?” Blaise began, but he fell silent when they rounded the corner and saw Draco and Hermione walking together toward them.

There was a sudden movement that they attempted to hide with their cloaks, but Blaise was almost certain they’d been holding hands. He shot a knowing look at Ginny who nodded back at him in agreement.

“Hi,” Draco said, in what Blaise knew he thought was a casual tone. “What’re you two doing?”

“I bumped into Blaise at the owlery and I was walking back with him to the common room to see you, Hermione. But what are you both doing?” Blaise had to admire her boldness—Hermione blushed brightly and looked away.

“Hermione mentioned she hasn’t had a snowball fight this winter, yet,” Draco said, his voice still attempting a light and casual tone.

“A snowball fight?” Ginny repeated, sounding excited.

“How delightful,” Blaise commented.

“You want to join us?” Hermione asked.

Blaise and Ginny both agreed immediately and exchanged knowing looks as they followed Hermione and Draco outside.

“Just a snowball fight, you think?” Ginny whispered to Blaise.

“Or another opportunity to spend time together?” Blaise suggested.

“We’re meeting afterwards and you better find out something good,” Ginny said firmly.

Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ginny shoved him and they fell into a bout of giggles that they tried and failed to hide.

Draco turned around and looked at them suspiciously. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing!” they said in unison.

Draco looked as though he was about to disagree, but Hermione had pushed open the doors and was pulling him toward the grounds, distracting him entirely from Blaise and Ginny. Blaise followed, glancing at Ginny as he did and wondering what exactly it was about the Weasleys that had him acting this way.

---

“Hello Mother,” Blaise said, stepping into the room he was sure his mother was lounging in. According to her one letter to him that term, she had planned to meet him at the platform when he arrived back for Christmas break. Blaise was glad he had made other arrangements to be safe.

His mother slowly stood up from where she had been sprawled on the settee and squinted at him, despite the dim lights—not a good sign. “Blaise, dear,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “When did you arrive?”

“Only a few minutes ago,” Blaise said, then flushed as he realised how casual his speech had become. “I thought I ought to see you before I have my things sent to my room.”

“Oh, yes,” his mother said, snapping her fingers. A house elf appeared. “Take Blaise’s belongings to his room—and make sure it is to his liking.”

Blaise looked away—his recent friendship with Hermione had resulted in several conversations about House-elves. He didn’t quite know what he thought of all her ideas, but he felt a little uncomfortable watching his mother order this elf around when he could very well do it himself.

“Sit with me, dear,” his mother said, tapping a spot on the settee beside her.

Blaise moved over wordlessly, hoping to get the conversation over quickly so she could leave him in peace for the rest of break—she always insisted on one catch up each break to fulfil her motherly duties.

“How was your term?” she asked, grasping his hand delicately.

“Quite enjoyable. The N.E.W.T. work has been very interesting,” Blaise said, carefully avoiding the topics he knew she cared about more.

“So dedicated to your schoolwork,” she said, shaking her head. “Strange.”

Blaise thought it was strange to insult your child’s interest in their studies, but he bit his tongue.

“And your connections?” she asked. According to her, Blaise never had friends, only connections.

“I am meeting new people,” Blaise said, by way of avoiding her question without outright lying.

“Good—let’s hope you make better choices this time,” she said, dropping his hand and looking away. “Such a shame, I thought you had made a wise choice, aligning with the Malfoys. No matter now.”

Blaise didn’t reply—his mother didn’t seem to be expecting one and he didn’t particularly feel like telling her he had continued his friendship with Draco. According to her, he ought to have cut off anyone who had any involvement in the war to maintain his own image.

His mother suddenly snapped her fingers again and the House-elf reappeared. “Get me a glass of the Elderflower wine,” she ordered.

Blaise sighed loudly. “It’s three o’clock, Mother.”

She turned and fixed him with a probing stare that made Blaise look away—he knew exactly what she was trying to do. She turned back to the elf. “Two glasses, thanks. My son will have one.”

“No thank you, Mother,” Blaise said firmly—he’d used to enjoy the privilege of being invited to drink with his mother. It made him feel grown and mature. Now, he liked to make himself as scarce as possible once she’d started.

She glared at him, though her look lacked the force it had held before. “Fine.” She turned back to elf. “I still want two glasses.”

“I should go unpack,” Blaise said, standing up.

“Let the elf do that,” his mother said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Oh—you know me. I like things done in a certain way,” Blaise said, taking a step back.

“Fine—go,” she said, her voice cold. “Avoid the office—that jerk, Ernest, is in there.”

Blaise nodded, wondering what Ernest had done to deserve such a title—he suspected it was more to do with the fact that it was nearing a year since his mother had married the poor man and he was still around. Blaise stepped out of the room and headed straight for his bedroom, not needing his mother’s recommendation to want to avoid her newest husband. He’d long since given up any attempt to have any relationship with them—they were strictly his mother’s business and he didn’t like getting too attached.

He knew the rumours that surrounded his mother—and himself, by association. They weren’t entirely unfounded—there was a suspicious pattern in the timing of his mother’s marriages to these wealthy men and their deaths—but the truth was less scandalous than many presumed. Blaise’s mother had always been skilled in Divination and unlike most Seers, she’d kept the ability hidden. Blaise was certain that once she realised the power it gave her, she chased it further and that was how she’d come to learn Legilimency. The combination of these powers made it only too easy for her to sway potential lovers just before the death she had seen coming.

She’d never outright explained any of this to Blaise—she was too smart for that. But Blaise was her son and he was just as smart as she was—he didn’t need to learn much to figure out what she was doing. The one time Blaise had tried to ask her, she’d told him the men were happy and she had never had any hand in bringing their deaths—knowing it was coming was entirely innocent, according to her. He’d settled for that answer at the time and pushed away the unease. The first few men had been happy, after all—and if they decided to hand all their life savings to a woman they hardly knew, then that was on them and their idiocy—but as years went on, his mother had grown colder, drank more and cared less. The men often retreated, as though they knew their death was incoming and just waited for it to allow them to leave.

Blaise hated seeing it, so he’d ignored it all—at school he didn’t speak of family and at home he didn’t speak to them. In a few months he’d graduate and be given the small sum of money his real father had managed to remember to leave for him. He already knew he would take it and everything he owned to some place far away and hope his mother would forget to invite him back. Until then, he’d hide in his room, send letters to his friends asking about their wonderful breaks and pretend his was something close to it.

Ron’s most recent letter had been full of excitement, detailing his family’s preparation for Christmas. Their holidays were full of tradition and loud noises and they all cared for each other. There had been a sadness in some of Ron’s writing and Blaise didn’t know whether to question it—he knew George had a twin and he knew that he’d died in the war, but Ron never seemed to write about it. Blaise didn’t know if it was because he wasn’t sure how to bring it up or if he just couldn’t bring himself to write it. It made Blaise’s heart hurt to think of Ron’s happy family being surrounded by such grief—but he supposed they had each other, at least.

Blaise had never known a family to be so close. The Slytherin families he’d known always operated similarly—the parents cared, but every child feared stepping out of line. The Weasleys seemed different to any other family Blaise had witnessed and he felt a strange longing to know more. The closeness that Blaise had noticed between Ron and his siblings was strange—made most unusual by the fact that none of them considered it odd.

Blaise didn’t really know what to say in reply to Ron’s letter—he didn’t have any family traditions of his own to write about. In fact, he was fairly certain Christmas would pass this year without his mother even remembering it. He’d started responding to Ron’s letters almost immediately, feeling oddly excited when he received them, yet this one had been sitting in his pocket for a couple of days. He sighed, glancing around the room—he supposed he had plenty of time to figure out what he wanted to say. He pulled a quill and parchment from his desk and began to write.

Hello Ron,

Sorry for the delay in writing, I was busier than expected packing for Christmas break. I suppose you are excited to have Ginny back home? Please remind her that she lost the snowball fight and that I did not, in fact, cheat. Your family Christmas sounds delightful and I must admit I am a little jealous. I suspect it will be a quiet Christmas here (something I am sure you are unfamiliar with).

Blaise paused, his quill hovering over the page. An idea had just struck him and he couldn’t quite shake it. He wondered if it was too late—Christmas was only a few days away—but he found himself writing anyway.

I was wondering if you’d like to join me for some Christmas shopping? I have unfortunately realised I am quite late in getting the presents I need to buy. Of course, you may be far more prepared than I am in this matter.

Let me know if this sounds suitable to you and a date that is convenient for you.

Blaise

Blaise signed the letter quickly and moved his hand to call for an elf, then shook his head. He folded the letter himself and walked to where the family owl was kept—his mother was quite disgusted by the thought of having an owl in the house, so she’d had one of her husbands build a barn outside. Blaise found the owl resting in the rafters and called it down. She was a sweet owl and Blaise wished he could take her to Hogwarts with him, but his mother had never allowed it, saying her correspondence was far more important.

Blaise carefully tied the letter to her leg and gave the owl a small treat before sending it on its way. He watched it fly out of the barn, wondering if it had been a good idea to invite Ron shopping. What if he’d already bought all his things and said no? Or had no interest in seeing Blaise again? Or just didn’t want to be seen in public with him? They didn’t exactly have the same reputation. But despite his worries, Blaise couldn’t help hoping Ron would say yes—because he desperately wanted to see him again.

---

Ron’s reply came the next day.

Blaise,

You’re right, I don’t have any idea what a quiet Christmas is like. I hope you enjoy your Christmas anyway, and have some time for celebration. If you ever see my mum, don’t mention that you’re jealous of our Christmas unless you want to score yourself an invite for life. I swear, there’s someone new every year.

It’s nice that you think I’m organised, but I haven’t bought a single Christmas gift yet. Do you want to meet at Diagon Alley on Wednesday? I don’t know if I can push it any later.

By the way, Ginny says you’re a dirty cheat, so I don’t really know who to believe here. You’ll have to tell me all about this snowball fight when I see you.

Ron

Blaise grinned at the letter and wrote his reply right there in the barn, sending it back immediately. He and Ron were going shopping.

---

Blaise apparated to the Leaky Cauldron a few days before Christmas, a short list of presents folded carefully in his pocket. If he was being honest, Christmas shopping was a tradition he rarely partook in. His mother usually just bought what she wanted and made whatever husband she was with at the time give it to her. Poor Ernest was probably being left with that duty now. Outside of his family, he’d never had many people to buy presents for, so he’d never had much reason to shop. He did however, like the idea of choosing presents for his friends and even more, he liked that he was doing it with Ron.

He glanced around the Leaky Cauldron as he stepped inside, looking for Ron. After a quick glance, he saw Ron waving to him from the bar. Blaise grinned and walked over to him—apparently Ron was in mid-conversation with the barman, who he seemed to know. It was strange the connections and friends Ron had made.

“Hey, Blaise,” Ron said easily. “Tom was just telling me how crazy I am to think I could get my shopping done today.”

“It’s mad out there,” the bartender—Tom—said.

“We really should have thought to go sooner,” Blaise said, a little nervous at the prospect of the crowded stores.

“The rush is half the fun,” Ron said, grinning.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You turn even shopping into a chance for thrill seeking.”

“Says you, Mr. Let’s Go On An Adventure,” Ron said, chuckling. “We should go, though.”

Blaise nodded, too distracted by Ron’s playful attitude to respond.

“Alright—see you, Tom,” Ron said, waving to the bartender as they walked away.

“How is it that you know everyone?” Blaise asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the bar. “Or is it just that you’ve befriended every bartender in London?”

Ron laughed loudly. “Not every bartender—I dunno, I guess I just speak to people. You can’t help it once you’ve been somewhere a few times.”

“I certainly can,” Blaise said in an undertone.

Ron laughed again and Blaise felt his heart pound—what was happening to him? Ron tapped the bricks in the alleyway with his wand and a moment later, they were in Diagon Alley. Blaise paused as they stepped into the street, overwhelmed by the crowds. He instantly began planning the fastest way out, but then Ron looked over and smiled at him and he pushed the feeling aside.

“What’ve you got to get?” Ron asked.

Blaise felt for the list in his pocket and glanced at it. “Not much—something for Draco, perhaps my mother and her husband.”

Ron glanced at him. “That all? Have you done the rest?”

Blaise flushed—he knew he didn’t have enough reason to be out shopping. “I—uh,” he began, hating the stammer that crept into his voice. “I don’t have many people to buy for.”

“Right,” Ron said, apparently unbothered. “Well then, you can help me because I still have to look for my whole bloody family.”

Someone brushed past Blaise and he pushed himself further against the wall, trying to remove himself from the crowded street. “Where—uh—where do you want to start, then?” Blaise asked, distracted by the thickening crowd.

“I was thinking of looking in Quality Quidditch Supplies for something for Ginny,” Ron said and Blaise nodded, following him through the crowd to the store.

They passed from shop to shop, squeezing between crowds and trying to push their way towards what they were looking for. Ron needed to go to just about every store there to find presents for all of his family. Then he needed to look for Harry and all his other friends—Blaise couldn’t quite believe how many people Ron knew and wanted to buy presents for. He offered to help him with the many bags he was carrying, but Ron shrugged him off and Blaise had to admit, he didn’t fail to notice the tense muscles in Ron’s arms as he supported their weight. Blaise shook his head as soon as the thought entered his mind.

Ron glanced over at him. “What are you shaking your head at?”

Blaise felt his face burn. “Oh—nothing. Where to next?” he said, quickly changing the subject.

“I dunno,” Ron said. “Where do you need to go again?”

“Flourish and Blotts?” Blaise suggested and Ron nodded.

They made their way to the store and stepped inside. Blaise immediately was knocked aside as someone bustled past him and he fell backwards onto Ron, who, without a hand free to steady himself, collapsed onto the wall. Blaise jumped forward, apologising quickly and helping Ron to steady himself again. He pulled Ron’s arm forward to help him back up and Ron grinned at him appreciatively. Blaise felt a wave of nerves run through him and he dropped his hand from Ron’s arm.

“You wait here, I’ll be back in a moment,” Blaise said, pushing his way into the aisles before Ron could disagree.

He needed a moment alone with his thoughts to gather himself and figure out what exactly he was doing here. Unfortunately, the crowded shop seemed to intrude even into his mind, pressing in around him and not giving him enough space to breathe, let alone think. He tried to focus on the books in front of him, looking for one which Draco would enjoy, but they all blurred together. He wiped his face and drew in a shaky breath, trying to look again. Someone bumped him and he jumped backwards. His eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything in particular and slid around, trying to draw his attention to one thing.

“Blaise?” He jumped and turned to his side to see Ron looking at him, concerned. “You okay?”

Blaise tried to nod quickly, knowing his voice would betray any sort of control he had. Ron put a hand on Blaise’s arm, shielding him from the people pushing past. “You want to step outside? It’s so busy in here,” Ron suggested.

Blaise nodded again and let Ron lead him out. The street seemed just as crowded as the store and Blaise glanced at Ron, feeling panic closing in. Ron looked at him, then away, his face concentrated. A moment later, he was pulling Blaise forward, through the street. Blaise didn’t even look to see what store Ron was directing him into, but the noise of the street, the bodies pressing against him and the bright lights were all suddenly gone. Blaise drew in breaths quickly and leant against a wall, staring at the ground because he couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Ron when he was like this.

Blaise’s breaths slowly steadied and he could focus on the ground he was staring at. He slowly looked up and noticed the store they were standing in was incredibly bright—only none of the lights were on, making all the colours somewhat muted. He furrowed his brow—the store was empty. How had they gotten inside?

“Where are we?” Blaise asked, the words struggling to force themselves out.

“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Ron answered from somewhere on his right. “George changed the wards to allow me in once I started helping him.”

Blaise nodded, exhaustion gripping him. He heard Ron moving and kept his eyes focused down. He could see Ron’s shoes as he stood in front of him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice so soft and kind that it made Blaise hurt—Ron had no reason to be kind to him now.

“Fine,” Blaise said quickly. “Sorry, I—uh—I…” Blaise fell silent as he realised he wasn’t able to think of an excuse.

“It’s okay,” Ron said, his voice still even and calm. “S’not your fault. Shops are horrible this time of year.”

Blaise nodded, still not wanting to look up at Ron.

“My brother, Charlie, hates crowded places too. He says it makes him feel trapped—then he goes off to fight dragons.”

Blaise nodded again. No one other than Draco and his mother had ever seen him like this. His mother had only seen it once and had told Blaise to get a hold of himself and stop embarrassing her. Draco had seen it more and had managed to be kinder than her. Still, her words rang in his head every time he felt that panic closing in—he was an embarrassment, had lost control of himself.

“Blaise?” Ron asked and Blaise wanted to scream at him for being so nice. He had screamed at Draco the first time he’d tried to help. The memory of how little that had helped held him back now.

“Yeah?” Blaise managed to say.

“Look at me,” Ron said, his voice full of the steadiness Blaise so desperately desired.

Blaise forced himself to tilt his head upward and look into Ron’s eyes. Ron smiled at him reassuringly. Blaise gave a weak smile back.

“Let’s stay here a bit,” Ron suggested.

“Okay,” Blaise said, trying to hide the inner fight his mind was having between wanting to look away and the desire to focus on Ron’s blue eyes—why had he never noticed how blue they were?

“George has tea, somewhere,” Ron said and he broke eye contact first. “Want some?”

“Okay,” Blaise said again.

Ron nodded and disappeared into a little room behind the counter for a second. A few moments later, he re-emerged with two steaming cups of tea. Blaise took his, giving Ron a small smile of appreciation and wishing he had some greater way to offer his thanks. Blaise sipped his tea, waiting for Ron to ask him what had happened.

“Does this—uh—happen lots?” Ron asked and Blaise knew he was watching him carefully. “Has it happened before?”

Blaise took a long sip before replying. “Yeah—it’s happened before.”

“Have you ever spoken to anyone about it?” Ron asked.

Blaise shrugged. “Draco knows, but there’s not much use in talking about it.”

Ron paused and Blaise broke his resolve, curiosity getting the better of him and forcing him to look up. Ron looked as though he was thinking carefully. “What?” Blaise asked.

Ron glanced at him. “It’s just—it could help to talk. I know it’s helped Charlie,” he said, his voice cautious. “And Harry.”

Blaise shrugged. “Harry has plenty of reasons to talk about his worries. As does Charlie, I’m sure.”

“You don’t?” Ron asked, his tone lacking the accusation that Blaise expected.

Blaise shrugged again. “I don’t have any reason to feel the way I do. Everyone else manages fine in crowded spaces, with exams, with stress.”

“You don’t know that,” Ron said.

“ You didn’t panic back there,” Blaise said simply.

“Doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you because you did.”

Blaise snorted disbelievingly.

“It doesn’t,” Ron repeated, his voice firm.

Blaise sipped his tea so he didn’t have to reply. Ron reached out and held his arm still.

“I thought you got me this tea to help?” Blaise asked, trying to inject his usual humour into his voice. “Now you’re not letting me drink it?”

Ron dropped his hand, giving Blaise a small grin. “You can drink your tea. Just know that if you ever do decide to talk, we can.”

Blaise nodded and sipped his tea, still unsure what to say. So much of him was telling himself not to believe Ron, yet nothing he had said or done so far had given him any reason not to trust him—and he really wanted to trust him.

---

Blaise,

Merry Christmas! Hope you enjoyed your quiet Christmas with the family, although that Ernest guy sounds a bit dull. Christmas here was its usual chaos, as expected. Hermione ended up coming, which was good, I think? I don’t know, we spoke and I think we’re okay. I think we’re friends again, at least. Harry came too, as usual. Mum just considers him part of the family now.

I’m actually writing to you because of Harry. He’s having a New Year’s Eve party at his flat. Nothing too big, just a few friends. Anyway, he wanted to see if you and Malfoy wanted to come? Let me know and I’ll send you the details.

Ron

Blaise stared at the letter that had arrived over breakfast, slightly shocked.

“You alright, boy?” Ernest asked, looking at him over the Daily Prophet.

“Fine, thank you,” Blaise said curtly, waving his wand to direct his dishes to the sink and wash themselves as he walked out of the room.

He didn’t let the façade fall until he’d made it to his room. There, he went back to looking at the letter in shock. Ron had invited him to a New Year’s Eve party at Harry Potter’s house? And he’d extended the invite to Draco? The whole thing sounded far too strange. Blaise mulled over his options carefully—he knew if he owled Draco to ask about his opinion, Draco would say they should go. He’d been making an effort to mend his old rivalries and Blaise was sure he’d be too focused on the fact that Hermione would be there to think about the awkwardness of them joining a Gryffindor party.

The problem was, Blaise couldn’t deny he wanted to go. He wasn’t quite sure at what point it had happened, but after returning home from the shopping trip he knew for sure—he had a crush on Ron. It was ridiculous of course—he had no indication that Ron felt the same way, or that he was even attracted to men. In fact, past evidence suggested he wasn’t. Blaise had felt too nervous to even mention the fact that he was gay to Ron—how do you even bring that up to someone?

Blaise knew what his answer would be as soon as he’d read it. Despite all the thoughts in his head and all the reasons he had to say no, he couldn’t bring himself to. He just couldn’t say no to Ron. So, he pulled out some parchment and began writing a letter to Draco, already planning what he would say to Ron.

---

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Draco said as they walked along the hall.

“Really, Draco?” Blaise said tiredly. “We’re going to go through this conversation again outside his door?”

“It’s just—maybe he was only being polite. Maybe it’s too weird,” Draco said nervously.

“Have you ever known Potter to do something only to be polite?” Blaise asked.

Draco paused for a second. “You’re right.”

“I know,” Blaise said, reaching out a hand to knock on the door.

A moment later the door was pulled open and Blaise was greeted with Ron’s grinning face. Merlin, there was something about the way he smiled that made Blaise unable to pull his eyes away.

“Welcome!” Ron said enthusiastically, stepping aside to allow them in. Blaise was surprised at how enthusiastic he was with Draco walking into the apartment, but he supposed Ron’s letter had mentioned he and Hermione had made up. He’d only talked about friendship in the letter, but the thought still made jealousy coarse through him. He pushed his concern at Ron’s repaired friendship with Hermione aside and grinned back at him, hoping he’d find out the truth about it later.

“Thanks,” Draco said, stepping to the side.

Ron nodded at him, then turned to Blaise. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, grinning in a way that suggested he was happy Blaise had.

“Well, when you get invited to a party at Harry Potter’s flat…” Blaise said, raising his eyebrows.

Ron laughed and Blaise felt his face shift into a smile. “I should have known—plenty of opportunity for you to discover everyone’s secrets.”

“Absolutely,” Blaise said.

“Well, I should tell you then—” Ron began, but he was cut off by someone calling his name. He glanced to the kitchen, where Ginny was waving him over, then looked back at Blaise apologetically. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, sighing.

Blaise nodded, wondering what Ron had been about to tell him—an imaginative part of his mind toyed with the idea of it being some wild confession of attraction to him, but he pushed the thought aside. That was not going to be how tonight went.

Blaise glanced around and saw everyone else in conversation, spread around the flat, talking and laughing loudly over the music. After a moment when Ron hadn’t returned, he found a chair and sat down. He entertained himself by watching the groups of people—Hermione and Draco talking in a corner, Harry and Neville exchanging nervous looks as Luna explained something with her arms waving wildly, Seamus and Dean laughing on the couch. Blaise paused, then looked back—Seamus and Dean laughing on the couch.

He should have known they’d be there. It makes sense—they’re far more Harry’s friends than he was. Of course they were invited. Of course they came together. Blaise looked away, hoping to spot Ron but he couldn’t find him. Instead, he made eye contact with Ginny, who walked over and sat beside him.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Wonderful,” Blaise lied, avoiding looking at the couch. He didn’t know why seeing them happy bothered him so much—he didn’t want Seamus back. Maybe he just envied Seamus for being able to be that happy.

“How’s our project going?” Ginny asked.

Blaise had to take a moment to remember what she was talking about, his mind still on Seamus. He caught sight of Hermione and Draco, then nodded, remembering. “How do you think? They look pretty happy.”

Ginny laughed and nodded her agreement. “We hardly even needed to help.”

“No—shame, really,” Blaise said.

Ginny laughed and Blaise was struck with how similar to Ron’s laugh it was—the thought caused him to look around for Ron. He’d said he’d be back in a moment, but Blaise caught sight of him with Harry and Neville. Apparently he’d forgotten their unfinished conversation.

“We’ll have to use our efforts elsewhere,” Ginny said, nudging him. “Surely we can cause some chaos.”

“Chaos?” Blaise asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Your reputation precedes you,” she said. “I’ve heard it’s your specialty.”

“I don’t know where you heard that,” Blaise said, shaking his head. “I’d much rather observe than cause it.”

“Fine,” Ginny said. “I’ll cause it, you observe it and let me know the results.”

“It’s a deal,” Blaise said.

“Gin!” Harry called and Ginny looked over at him—these people really just jumped from conversation to conversation.

Ginny was pulled into whatever Harry was talking about and Blaise knew he could join in, but something stopped him. He let himself fall into the background, staying where no one could notice him and he could notice everyone. Part of him hoped to be noticed by one person, but chances of that happening seemed to be slim. Ron seemed distracted and his attention was clearly divided. He saw him glance towards where Hermione and Draco were chatting more than once. Blaise, on the other hand, did not look at Seamus and Dean at all. Instead, he stayed in his spot, watching everyone else and trying to think if there was some better way he could be spending his time at this party—but Draco was busy with Hermione and Ron was busy doing anything but talk to Blaise. He certainly wasn’t about to intrude on the conversations of any of these old friends, so he sat by himself.

Blaise glanced at Draco and Hermione, feeling genuinely happy that Draco had finally mended things with her, but wishing he could have his friend. When he looked back to where Ron had been, he noticed he was missing. Supposing he’d gone to the kitchen, Blaise finally stood up and walked over—maybe Ron could finish what he’d been going to say now. The kitchen was empty, however and Blaise stepped back out. His eyes fell straight to the couch, where Seamus and Dean had begun passionately making out. Blaise rolled his eyes and, figuring Draco would be fine on his own, decided it was time to leave. No one noticed as he made his way to the door and stepped outside.

He walked along the hall and down the stairs—Potter had such heavy protection charms on his flat that you had to leave the building to be able to apparate. He pushed open the doors, but saw the steps were blocked. Someone was sitting on them, despite the snow that was falling all around. Ron glanced up as Blaise opened the door and shifted to make room for him to go past.

“Leaving already?” he asked, wrapping his arms around his legs to shield himself from the cold.

Blaise stepped down so he was standing on the step below Ron, then leant against the rail. “I was thinking about it.”

“Harry Potter’s party didn’t live up to your expectations?” Ron asked.

“Well, it became quite dull when the person who invited me disappeared,” Blaise said, looking at Ron carefully.

Ron glanced up at him. “Sorry. I—I just needed some air.”

Blaise nodded, then moved to sit beside Ron. “It’s a bit shit, isn’t it?”

Ron over at him, surprised. “What is?”

Blaise shrugged. “Seeing someone you were happy with be happy with someone else.”

“Oh,” Ron said, nodding. “Yeah. I just wish I’d known I was a placeholder.”

Blaise’s heart ached for Ron and he wanted to reach out and grip his hand, but he stilled himself. “You should never have to feel that way,” Blaise said softly.

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “It’s what I was, though.”

Blaise paused, then shook his head. “I think you know you were more than that—she cared about you, even if how she cared changed.”

“Maybe,” he said, sighing. “I really thought I could be fine with this. I even told her over Christmas that she should go for it with Malfoy.”

“You did?” Blaise asked, surprised.

“Yeah—she should be happy.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Blaise said, looking at Ron carefully.

Ron glanced over at him, then shrugged. “I don’t want her to be unhappy on my account.”

“You say that as though it’s easy.”

“It wasn’t exactly, but it eased my conscience,” Ron said, looking down at his feet. “It’s just—I could see how happy they are. I hadn’t seen them together yet. I thought it would be fine but it just reminded me that what we had didn’t mean as much to her as it did to me.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” Blaise said carefully. “I think the fact you care so much is amazing.”

Ron looked at him, his face showing a small amount of surprise. A small smile worked its way onto his face. “Thanks,” he said.

“Want to talk about something happier?” Blaise offered.

“I’d love to,” Ron said, chuckling.

“Tell me about your latest invention,” Blaise said, nudging him—he barely had to move his leg to do so, he and Ron were sitting so close.

Ron grinned and launched into an explanation about the newest idea he and George had been working on. Blaise nodded along, enjoying Ron’s excitement. It was evident in his letters how much he loved it and Blaise always imagined Ron’s animated movements as he spoke. Ron was waving his hand wildly now, trying to demonstrate his idea to Blaise and was every bit as enthusiastic as Blaise always imagined when he read his letters. Blaise looked at him, a small smile on his face. Ron’s hands were swinging around—he always needed every part of him to tell a story.

“It’ll move like this!” Ron said and his arm swung so close to Blaise’s face that he reached out a hand to block it. Ron flushed, but Blaise’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled it down slowly.

“Uh yeah—that’s it basically,” Ron said, his eyes looking down at Blaise’s hand. Blaise let go of Ron’s wrist slowly and shifted his hand to his lap—he didn’t really know what he was doing. Ron had given no indication he was anything but straight, but Blaise couldn’t help himself wanting to find out more.

“Sounds exciting,” Blaise said, his breath creating a cloud in the night air. He pulled his arms around himself, suddenly aware of how cold the stoop they were sitting on was.

Ron shifted slightly and his knee bumped Blaise’s. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move. He felt closer now—Blaise was too scared to look. He was too scared to do anything that might ruin whatever this was.

“It’s cold,” Ron remarked.

“No shit,” Blaise said and Ron let out one of his loud laughs—the kind that is pure joy. The kind that Blaise always hoped to hear—that he felt proud of himself for causing.

“Do you want to go inside?” Blaise asked, hoping with all his being that Ron didn’t.

“Not really,” Ron said. Blaise could feel him turning to look at him.

Ron’s shoulder was brushing his now. The stoop was wide and they were so close—maybe a little too close for two friends, but it was cold. They’d blame it on the cold. Blaise could still feel Ron’s eye’s on him, his body turned toward him. He shifted his head slightly to meet Ron’s eyes. There was a strange look there, as though he was thinking hard about something.

“What?” Blaise asked when he didn’t speak, not caring how unrefined he sounded.

“I like spending time with you,” Ron said slowly. “I didn’t think I’d ever spend time with a Slytherin—or enjoy it.”

Blaise didn’t know what to say to that. He tried to think of something clever, but all he could think was that he was so close, he could see the pattern the freckles made across Ron’s face.

“Yeah,” Blaise forced out. “Neither.”

“You didn’t enjoy time with Slytherins?” Ron asked, his brow furrowed in a look of such genuine confusion that Blaise felt himself melt a little.

“No—I meant Gryffindors. I didn’t think I’d like any of you.”

“And I changed your mind?” Ron asked, grinning.

Blaise grinned back, then realised that was wrong—Ron wasn’t the first Gryffindor he befriended. He felt the smile fall from his face.

“You okay?” Ron asked, with such sweet concern that Blaise almost forgot what he’d been thinking.

“I—yeah,” Blaise said, trying to decide what to say. He had no reason to hide his past with Seamus from Ron—Seamus certainly didn’t have any problems sharing it. “It’s just—well, I did have another Gryffindor—friend.”

“You mean Hermione?” Ron asked, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re giving her all the credit.”

“No—I mean, yes we’re friends, but I’m not talking about her,” Blaise said, knowing he was purposely delaying.

“What—you befriended the whole of Gryffindor Tower?” Ron asked, nudging him.

The movement distracted Blaise and he glanced back at Ron, trying to gather his thoughts. “No—so far only four Gryffindors. Now only three.”

“I hope I’m not the one you just dropped,” Ron joked.

“You’re not,” Blaise said simply.

“Then who was it? Should I thank them for improving our reputation?” Ron asked, looking at Blaise expectantly.

Blaise sighed—he wanted be talking about anything other than Seamus right now. “He really didn’t—he was just the first one I spoke to.”

“So I still can claim responsibility for making you like Gryffindors?” Ron asked, proudly.

Blaise paused—he didn’t know why he was avoiding it, really. It wasn’t as though Ron would be jealous. They were only friends. Maybe he already knew and didn’t care. “I—uh—he’s already told people so it’s not exactly secret—but I—I dated Seamus,” Blaise forced himself to say. Ron didn’t say anything and Blaise was too scared to look at him. “In sixth year,” he added because he hated the silence.

He could feel Ron’s eyes on him again. “What?” he said, disbelievingly.

“Yeah,” Blaise said, staring straight ahead. “And it ended in a fucking mess—well, I was at least—so I went back to hating Gryffindors. Until I met you,” Blaise added, bumping his knee against Ron’s. Ron stayed oddly still.

“Seamus?” he asked and Blaise forced himself to look over—he couldn’t tell what Ron was thinking just from listening. He looked at Blaise, shocked.

“Unfortunately.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know—there weren’t a lot of dating options,” Blaise said, wondering why Ron hadn’t yet commented on the fact that Seamus was a guy.

“Yeah, but—how?”

“We talked one day, figured each other out—I was just a sixteen year old kid happy I found another gay kid who actually seemed interested in me. Turns out he was more interested in his best mate,” Blaise said, all to focused on Ron’s reaction to the gay part.

“But Seamus and Dean didn’t start dating until after the war,” Ron said, confused.

Blaise reminded himself that Ron was friends with Seamus and Dean—surely he’d be okay with being friends with Blaise still then. As long as he didn’t find out about his crush.

“I know—trust me,” Blaise said. “Didn’t stop him from pining after him while he was with me.”

“That’s fucked up,” Ron said, and Blaise was surprised to hear anger in his voice.

“What part?” Blaise said, needing to know that Ron didn’t mean the fact that he and Seamus were both guys—he had no idea why he had chosen this moment to tell Ron.

“That Seamus had feelings for Dean while dating you,” Ron said, his brow furrowed, as though he couldn’t think of what else he could be referring to.

“That’s a relief,” Blaise said aloud.

“What?” Ron asked, bemused.

“Just that you don’t think any other part of it is fucked up,” Blaise elaborated.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked and he looked so confused Blaise got distracted by the little crease that formed in between in eyebrows.

“I just meant that some people would take offence to Seamus and I being together at all.”

Ron’s expression darkened. “Fuckers,” he said.

“Yeah,” Blaise said.

“I don’t care about who you date, Blaise,” Ron said. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Blaise felt his heart sink a little, even though he knew Ron had meant the words to be a reassurance. “Good to know,” he said.

“It is fucked up, though,” Ron added, sounding angry again. “Merlin, Seamus can be an idiot.”

“It doesn’t matter—like I said, it was messy. He got what he wanted and I…” Blaise trailed off—he still didn’t know what he got.

“What did you get, Blaise?” Ron asked.

A moment ago, Blaise had been too scared to look at Ron. Now he was too scared to look away. “I don’t know,” he said in a soft voice.

“What do you want then?” Ron asked and Blaise wished he wasn’t so close—wished there wasn’t so much of Ron pressed against him right now. It was for the warmth, he reminded himself—only for the warmth.

“I’ve never really been the kind of person to get what I want,” Blaise said, delaying because right now the only answer he could think of was something he could never admit.

“That’s bullshit—that people are either the kind that get what they want or not. Everyone deserves something good.” Ron's eyes locked onto Blaise’s as he spoke.

“Spoken like a person who gets what they want,” Blaise said, his voice soft—he didn’t need to be loud for Ron to hear him now.

Ron laughed, but it was soft this time—a different laugh. Blaise felt like he had discovered something wondrous—all he wanted now was to hear that sound again.

“Blaise?” Ron asked, his voice quiet, curious. Blaise met his eyes and there was something new there—a questioning look, as though he was waiting for Blaise to answer a question hidden in their speech.

“Yeah?” Blaise responded, his mind far too distracted to speak.

“What do you—”

Blaise moved forward, cutting Ron off with the answer he’d finally decided to give. He kissed him, quickly at first, half expecting Ron to push him away and yell at him, hoping that he’d know for a moment what it was like before Ron was gone forever. But then he felt Ron kissing him back, his hand moving to Blaise’s leg, pulling it so that the space between them was entirely gone. Blaise’s hand reached for Ron’s face, cupping it gently. A moment later, Ron pulled away, breathing heavily. Blaise dropped his hand, but Ron’s was still resting on his lap, so he moved it behind Ron, resting on the stair above them.

Ron was staring at him, his eyes wide and full of too many emotions for Blaise to understand. Blaise bit his lip, uncertain again. Ron’s gaze dropped to Blaise’s lip and his face burned red.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, then he dropped his head and stared between his feet. Blaise waited, still unsure what the right thing to say was.

“That was—fuck—I—” Ron said, shaking his head. He glanced up at Blaise and he had no trouble reading what he saw there this time. Blaise’s heart sank—he’d been stupid to think Ron wanted this.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No—don’t,” Ron said, shaking his head and standing up. Cold air rushed in where he had been sitting. “I—I need to go,” he said, stepping away.

“Ron,” Blaise began, cautiously, trying to think of an appropriate apology.

Ron shook his head and paused for a moment, looking down the street. He met Blaise’s eye once more, his face apologetic and confused—then he apparated away. Blaise stared at the spot he had disappeared from, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. For a moment he had felt so overjoyed, every thought gone from his mind because he was kissing Ron and that was the only thing he could focus on—then Ron had pulled away and now he had gone entirely, leaving Blaise sitting in the cold snow wondering if he’d ever come back.