Five Days Until the Yule Ball
Harry and Ron both still didn't have dates. Meanwhile, Hermione adamantly refused to tell the boys who she was taking, despite her insistence that she did have a date, which pissed Ron off beyond belief. So that left the boys to figure their shit out. Between the Triwizard tournament and the ever-insufferable Malfoy who wouldn't get off his back, Harry at least has an excuse to go solo; Ron, however, was only sans date due to his stubborn pride and downright refusal to ask any girl within a ten-mile radius.
During lunch, Hermione approached the boys, a wild look in her eyes. "I have...a bet for you, boys." Ron looked on in worry. He was terrified; Ron would probably end the week in a cast or his early grave.
"Oh, yeah? What would that be?"
"It's simple, really. if you two can't get a date by Friday," Hermione says, grinning mischievously, "then Harry, you have to ask Malfoy to the Ball, and Ron, you'll ask Blaise."
"What the bloody hell, Mione? That's just cruel." Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair. After putting up with Hermione's never-ending descriptions of her Mystery Man, he was pretty sick of her bullshit, despite his usual glee when it came to pranks. Plus, this one actually affected him; Blaise was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter douchebag. He was completely unemotional, annoyingly attractive, and was known for being the only Slytherin who wasn't ambitious like the lot of them.
Just thinking of him, Ron knew he'd rather die than take the bet. Blaise damn Zabini was the least interesting and most disgusting individual Ron had ever met, but he also knew that if they declined, Hermione would hold it over them for all eternity.
So he said, "Fine. It's a bet. But don't be surprised when Malfoy shows up with that Parkinson bitch, and not Harry." Ron watched his friend glare in disgust and felt pity burn in his chest, but mostly he was busy staring at the Slytherins across the hall. Zabini was staring off into space as usual, partaking in no conversation and only chiming in with snide remarks every now and then.
Four Days Until the Yule Ball
“Mione, please. Blaise is so dry. Not only is he a dick, he’s also boring.” Ron had spent the last twenty-four hours bitching to Hermione about the very crisis she put him in, but rather than focus on the fact that they hated each other, Ron was focused on the fact that Zabini was boring. Never mind that he’d never had a real conversation with the boy that didn’t consist of snarls and smirks, monotonous was monotonous.
“Don’t even think about trying to get out of this, Ronald. You can’t.” Hermione was smug as usual, her curls as unruly as her sly smile. “Anyways, wouldn’t you rather Boring Blaise than Malicious Malfoy?”
“Blimey, those nicknames are good! Does Pansy get one, too? Evil Mastermind or Pug-faced Bitch or something?”
“Haven’t you heard? Pernicious Pansy is a threat to all.” They arrived at the door to the Common Room and Hermione saluted in Ron’s direction, whispering the password to the Fat Lady since she knew Ron hadn’t paid attention to announcements that week. She wasn’t a monster, but damn, did she love toying with him sometimes. He said nothing as she climbed through, dumbfounded.
“What the bloody hell is a pernicious?”
Three Days Until the Yule Ball
Ron was about to ask out a Ravenclaw girl, one he didn’t really know or particularly like. Her name was Silvie, very bright and kind, from what Ron knew, which truly wasn’t more than her name and the fact that she was very, very pretty. He found her at the Ravenclaw table in the middle of lunch (admittedly not the most romantic location, but it would do, Ron had decided.).
“Erm, hello, Silvie. I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go to the ball with me? I know we don’t really know each other, but it could be nice.” He blushed, nerves sending shivers down his spine.
“I’m sorry, Ron. You seem nice, but I promised my friend Arwyn we’d go together, as friends.” She pulled her dark hair out of its braid, fidgeting with the waves nervously. She felt bad for him, truly.
“Oh.” He was thoroughly embarrassed, but tried not to show it. What Silvie had done was a nice thing, and he couldn’t be mad at her for rejecting a virtual stranger in favor of her friend. “That’s really kind of you, actually. Well, I best be going, then. Tell Arwyn hello.”
“Thank you for being so understanding. And hey, if you’re still interested, we could go for butterbeer next week. My treat as a form of apology.” They laughed, grateful to break the awkward silence, and Ron nodded.
“Free butterbeer is free butterbeer, am I right?”
Two Days Until the Yule Ball
The Yule Ball was in two days, and Ron was running out of options. When Harry had accepted his fate, at least enough to stop asking girls, Ron was still desperate, and had asked a last resort of his, Padma Patil. She had quickly rejected him, claiming she was a lesbian (never mind that just last week she’d been caught snogging a Hufflepuff boy). Ron had pretended he was okay with this, but it was starting to hit him how he’d actually have to take Blaise fucking Zabini to the Yule Ball. He spent an hour cursing and screaming in his dorm under a silencing charm.
After his little tantrum, which Harry and Hermione had dubbed the “Bitchin’ for Blaisey” incident, Ron decided that the absolute most necessary thing was to find out whether or not Zabini had gotten a date yet. The only thing worse than asking that prick to the ball would be asking out and being rejected by said prick.
“Oi! Zabini!” Ron got the boy’s attention quickly, seeing as Blaise Zabini never spoke to anyone except to piss them off.
“What do you want, Weasel? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Yeah, you’re clearly swamped, what with all the daydreaming and eye-rolling.” Blaise’s face warmed, and he stared intently at the ground, only solidifying Ron’s point. “Funny that you haven’t used a second of your time to ask someone to the ball. Or, wait, let me guess. You’ve paid a girl, haven’t you?”
“No such thing, you git. Haven’t you heard? I’m gay as a maypole.” Ron nearly choked, although there was nothing in his mouth, processing the sudden news.
“You’re what?”
“Gay, Weasley. What, you’ve never heard that word before? Is that a dirty word in your house, or are the people the only dirty ones?” Blaise taunted, using his identity to bait Ron into homophobia whilst also slamming his family. Slytherins were wonderfully creative in that way, knowing exactly what button to press, and Blaise was especially good at it when it came to Ron.
“I don’t care if you’re gay or a cat or whatever, but talk about my family like that again and they will never find your body. Understood?”
One Day Until the Yule Ball
Time’s up. Today, Ron would have to ask his sort of kind of mortal enemy to a fucking ball, and so, he waited until the very last minute to ask. Harry’s success fueled him, and finally, he found Blaise down by the dungeons after dinner. Before he could get a word in, Blaise met him with a harsh glare and shooed him away.
“Leave, please, Weasel.” He didn’t look very angry, though, just resigned, so Ron risked his life in favor of fulfilling the bet.
“Look, Zabini, I know you don’t have a date yet.” Ron was internally cringing already, but he pressed on. “Well, neither do I. I thought, maybe,---”
“Are you joking or do you actually want my parents to behead me?” Blaise joked, but he was pained, one hand on the wall to steady himself.
“I’m sorry, I, er, didn’t know. I’ll be going, then. Sorry again.” Anxious, Ron scurried away as fast as he could, looking at his feet to hide his dark blush. He didn’t notice, though, that Blaise had a small, bright smile on his face as he walked away.
The Day of the Yule Ball
It was the morning of, and Ron had explained his conundrum of sorts to Hermione, who had understood. Although she could force the boys to ask, she couldn’t control their responses, and honestly, Ron thought all the better for it. Going with Blaise would’ve been miserable, so why did he feel so lousy?
He spent all day thinking about it before he decided to find Zabini again; he didn’t know what he would say, but something had to happen, and fast. He found the boy after Potions; he was alone, thank Merlin.
“What if you told your parents it was a dare? Or a prank, a bet, or anything?” He didn’t bother with greetings, simply let his idea take up the silence and space between them. He watched Blaise’s face change, watched him process the idea before he nodded slightly.
“That could work. My parents may be ragingly homophobic, but they do love a good scheme. It’s the Slytherin in them. I’ll see you tonight, then, and I guess you’ll arrive with Potter?” At Ron’s questioning glance, he said, “Draco told me. I still can’t believe he said yes.”
“Me neither. See you tonight, Zabini. And one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I still don’t like you.”
Two Hours to the End of the Yule Ball
The ball had just begun, and Ron and Blaise had spent the last twenty minutes glaring at each other. Ron was fairly sure the other boy had zoned out quite a while ago, and he didn’t like looking lame, but Ron had nowhere to go. Harry was off with Malfoy somewhere, and the second Hermione had traipsed in with Viktor Krum and a haughty smirk, Ron wanted to Avada Kedavra himself. In short, he was stuck here with a date who didn’t speak and a tie that was far too bright and suffocating.
Suddenly, Blaise snapped to attention, his face softer, his mood lighter. Ron wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden change, but he was here for it. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”
“Sure. Surprise me, yeah? Something strong, please.” Blaise nodded sharply and Ron thanked him. A moment later, he returned with a glass of non-alcoholic champagne for himself and a glass of punch for Ron. No one confirmed that the punch was spiked, but his nose stung when he smelled it. “So you’re a champagne guy? Can’t say I expected that.” Ron’s tone wasn’t rude or hateful, simply observational, like saying, ‘You have brown eyes’.
“Champagne, the drink and the color, are both my favorites. And yours?”
“Er, what?”
“What’s your favorite color, Weasley?”
“Oh. I think yellow, actually.” Blaise laughed. “What? Is that bad?” Ron blushed, which he seemed to be doing more and more of tonight.
“No, no. It’s just so utterly predictable, Mr. Happy Go Lucky Gryffindor.”
“Says you, you neutral-loving, silent bastard. Next thing I know, you’ll say your favorite food is kidney beans or plain toast!”
“Well, we are British, aren’t we?” That elicited a laugh out of Ron, who found himself enjoying Blaise’s company more than he thought he would tonight. Who knew he was pretty funny?
One Hour to the End of the Yule Ball
Ron and Blaise had spent their last hour together, sipping drinks and talking about anything under the sun. They didn’t cross over the hard things, like their previous animosity or Blaise’s parents, but they liked each other, and that was good enough.
Ron hadn’t noticed, but in their conversations, they’d drifted closer and closer; Blaise was mere inches away, his breath a cloud in Ron’s face. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, hold him impossibly closer, learn what his tongue tasted like—
No. Absolutely not. Ron would not fall for him, a dirty Slytherin who didn’t care for anyone but himself. That would not happen. He was cut out of his thoughts, though, was Blaise said something, filling the beat of silence.
“I had a lot of fun tonight, Weasley. Thank you for this.”
Blushing, Ron rushed to cover his feelings, the way his stomach flipped when Blaise spoke. “Me too. Really, Blaise.” He looked up, trying to gauge the boy’s reaction, but found him zoned out again, staring at the ceiling and the lanterns hanging down. “Hey. What’s going on?” He grabbed Blaise’s hand to bring him to attention, but the boy was frozen in time and thought. “What are you thinking about?”
“This.” He brought his lips to Ron’s, smelling of champagne and something dark, intensely Blaise-like. His hands ended up in Ron’s hair, completely messing up the way Ron had set every hair perfectly in its place. Why did he do that, when he could’ve had this the whole night?
Ron broke the kiss desperately, not because he wanted to, but because something Blaise had said rushed back into his mind. “Your parents, Blaise, if they find out—”
“I don’t care. Just let me kiss you again. Please, Ron.” That was what undid him, let him succumb to the boy. Hearing his name on Blaise’s lips, light and easy like it was always supposed to be there, left his heart pounding in his chest, his courage melted in a puddle on the ground, and his lips back on Blaise’s, despite all common sense.
They kissed like that for a while, letting everything else fade to black, not a care in the world directed to all the people around them, staring in shock. When the ball ended, Ron went up to the dorms happier than he had in weeks, and Hermione lorded it over him the entire week.
Two Weeks After the Yule Ball
It had been a while since their first kiss, and today marked the day of Blaise and Ron’s first date. He was nervous, fidgeting with his shirt, but the second he saw Blaise, equally nervous, his nerves abated. They’d gone to the black lake, talking and picnicking for hours, until Blaise appeared far away, and Ron pressed.
“Why do you zone out all the time?” Blaise was resting his head on Ron’s shoulder, but he sat up. He started slow, holding Ron’s hand for stability.
“I live in my mind. Whenever something is tough, or my parents are bitching, or whatever, I retreat somewhere quiet, make up a fake world where I can live without being hurt. And it’s easier there. I know my friends don’t like it, but it’s habit at this point. Everything hurts less in my mind.”
“Well, thank you for sharing that with me. I know it can’t be easy, being you. But I hope you know that if you ever need a safe space that isn’t inside your head, you can always come to me.”
“I know, Ron.”
“Hey. I noticed something.”
“Really?” Blaise smirked. “That’s out of character for you.”
“Ha ha.” Ron blushed, swatting the other boy on the arm. “You don’t zone out much with me.”
“That’s because the whole world is brighter when I’m with you. I like it then.”