Breakfast
Blaise might be in heaven.
His legs were wrapped snugly in the sheets. One of his arms is trapped under Ron's head, so he uses that as an excuse to nuzzle further into the other man's chest. In the silence, harsh but also soft light filters in through the small window across the room. What breaks the gentleness of the morning is the room door flying open, "Cover everything meant to be covered!" Ginny yells from the doorway.
She's wearing pajamas covered in pygmy puffs, hands on her hips, grinning widely in the way only a younger sister can.
"Merlin, Gin, get out!"
Ron rolled over, taking Blaise along for another ride. Like he'd been transported into one of those Muggle tumble dryers. The fact that there was more risk of Ginny seeing her brother's bare ass instead of his more than made up for it.
"Breakfast 's on the table," Ginny calls over her shoulder with a giggle. "And a ready and willing audience." Ron groaned again, chucking a pillow at the wall. It misses horribly. Blaise hears the rough thump as it makes contact with the wall, harmonizing with Ginny's steps down the stairs.
Or something. Blaise wasn't a musician.
"Thought you were a better sportsman than that, Weasley," Blaise said. Ron glared at him good-naturedly, kissing his hand.
"You weren't complaining last night,"
"Shut up,"
When they made it downstairs, the long table hosted a small feast for the small army of Weasleys. Plates of bacon, toast, and a bowl of oatmeal sat in the middle of the table next to a carafe of icy-cold orange juice. A stack of plates and a small pile of silverware sat off to the side.
Harry was slowly spreading butter on toast, his hair as messy as ever, as if it was any other way would be weird. Next to him, Draco appeared to be mimicking the Golden Boy's hairstyle. He tilted his head in a drowsy greeting, small flecks of butter landing on his arm. His glare lasted for a few moments before melting into a soft look. It was cute.
On the other side of the table, Luna appeared completely enraptured with a Muggle toaster, presumably brought to the house by Arthur Weasley. She grinned brightly as the toast popped up with a click.
The buzz of conversation dimmed when he entered the room. Ron popped his head over his shoulder. Blaise slid into the nearest seat, waiting awkwardly as Ron sat next to him. Ron grabbed a plate, piling it with the treasures of the table. He slid the plate towards Blaise.
As a glass of orange juice was pushed into his hands, the room flipped a switch, and the regular noise seemed to return. The eyes Blaise felt vanished, or at least the menacing aura.
Charlie and Percy chatted quietly in the corner, and Oliver Wood had made an early appearance at the breakfast table. He sat at the horn-rimmed glasses wearing Weasley's elbow, waving one arm animatedly. Percy, whom Blaise had rarely seen without an annoyed, pinched face, had melted into Wood's chest.
Blaise snuck a glance at Ron, who had promptly tucked into his plate. He leaned into Ron, picking at his food, because the longer he ate, the longer he would be here. And the longer he could just be Ron's.
Surrounded by the clinking of silverware and the buzzing of conversation, he knew he would be.