Dancing in the Dark
Ronald Billius Weasley was the most irritating wizard to get ready with. Yes, Blaise knew his full name-- any student who receives a Howler from their mother instantly loses all mystery with their middle name. It didn't help the man shared a name with an older brother, either.
Blaise fiddled with his cuffs. He'd stepped out after the impromptu nap to change into his dress robes, a feat that normally took about five minutes. One couldn't expect to draw anyone in with glances if he didn't have a bit of eyeliner on the edges.
"Ron, come on, you can't be late when you live two steps from the bloody place!" Being fashionably late was one thing, it was another to abandon all sense of reasonable time.
"Just, okay, just don't laugh, alright?" Ron called through the door. When he stepped out, it was all Blaise could do to hold back his chuckle. Blaise remembered the outfit well. An unfortunate maroon color, mixed with stained white lace on the collar, around the edges, and waterfalling out the sleeves. The man looked like his grandmother's parlor had thrown up on him. The legs were a touch too small, but it looked better than it had the first time. Ron had especially grown into the shirt and jacket.
Blaise looked up and down, making no moves to hide his actions.
"It, um, 'm great aunt Tessie..." Ron flushed, trailing off. With a fond smile, Blaise tsked, "I'm sure your family won't mind if we just..." He waved his wand. The frilly mess soon morphed into a sharp chocolate brown suit, complete with matching cufflinks and a smart tie. Blaise stepped closer, brushing off Ron's now smooth, dust-and-mothball-free collar. "There we are. You clean up nice, Weasley. I hope you weren't overly fond of that lace."
"You..." Ron paused, looking winded at the sudden outfit change. "You're not that bad yourself." Blaise laughed into Ron's shoulder.
"You can thank me more later," Ron sucked in a breath, reaching out. Blaise huffed a laugh, linking their arms and tugging Ron down the hallway. *** The Great Hall shimmered under the floating candles of the enchanted ceiling. A long tablecloth drifted around the room, swerving between people in various states of sobriety and...not so much. Several nametags, outlined with the various house colors, were pinned to the drifting fabric. Some showed pictures from childhood photos to present ones flickering back and forth. Others didn't switch at all. A string quartet, enchanted of course, played softly in the corner.
At one end of the room, a group gathered by what appeared to be a bar, laughing loudly. Ernie Macmillan had found his court once again. His laugh was just as annoying as Blaise remembered, though his beer belly was new. Near the dance floor, Dean and Seamus swayed together. They moved in time to the music, for the most part, speaking quietly and wincing when a step made contact with another foot instead of the floor.
At the closest table, Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Pansy huddled around, engrossed in a conversation all their own. Pansy looked up as they approached."Hello, lovebirds,"
"Pansy,"
"All right, all right." Pansy grinned, raising her hands innocently. "Are you going to dance?"
Blaise hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't know how to dance, growing up in a Pureblood household made it as necessary as breathing-- among the more socially acceptable things, but this would be the first time he and Ron would be public about their...relationship. If you could call it that. "Or we could catch up," he found himself saying. A house elf passed with a tray if champagne flutes. Blaise waved a hand over, the drinks were passed around. Hermione's face twisted, but she accepted after a look from Ron and a pat on the arm from Harry.
"All right, have you ever heard the story of how Draco and I met?"
Draco let out an indignant screech, but allowed Blaise to continue.
"So it starts like this..."
***
A few drinks later, Blaise felt the warm buzz in the air sit lightly in his chest. He leaned into Ron, happy to brush his cheek against the soft fabric. It was fantastic if he did say so himself.
"You do look absolutely phenomenal in that," he said softly, no longer paying attention to the lines of conversation. Something about nargles, or barmy old centaurs.
"Hey," Ron said bashfully, offering his hand. Blaise took it, kissing his favorite freckle between Ron's thumb and forefinger. The room seemed to brighten around them, "Dance with me,"
Blaise allowed Ron to lead him from the table, away from their bubble of understanding, and onto the just full dance floor. They found a spot far enough into the ebb and flow, but just close enough that they could return to their haven. Even so, something felt off hidden among the carefully crafted atmosphere.
There were always spaces at a reunion. Blaise found himself waiting for the flash of a camera in the space Potter and his friends, well Blaise's too, took not far away. The snack table had its fair share of visitors, but none as crucial as a duo of snakes that had long since broken up in a firey tragedy.
He could hardly be lulled into a sense of security when, as they turned, Blaise found himself making eye contact with the most annoying man he'd suffered through in school.
"Zabini," Macmillan said, not quite slurring, but with the confidence of someone thoroughly trashed, "off the leash tonight? Never thought you'd show your face after the whole--whaterver." He waved his hands vaguely, and the tension balloon Blaise had managed to ignore popped. Hardly any of the alum of his own house had presented themselves. It was a room full of reds, yellows, and blues, but no green to match the silver, black, gold, and grey.
"Five years is a long time for someone to change," Blaise said softly. Ron tried to catch his gaze with a searching one. Blaise shook his head quietly, letting go to turn and face the former Hufflepuff. The music still played behind them, and Blaise found himself straining to ground himself with it.
Macmillan smirked, "Change? Come on, you're still the slimy underling to that noseless dead freak, second only to Malfoy," he waved a hand in the general direction of the groups table.
"I'm afraid," Blaise hissed, "that I've a new skin, if you will. Some people do manage to make it past their teenage mannerisms."
Ernie's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm great. But you? Your ledger is never gonna stop being a bloody--"
"Lay off, Ernie," Ron said, pushing Blaise slightly behind him. "You're drunk. And no one's here for this."
Macmillan sneered, eyes glittering, "Oh, so you've gone and poisoned a lion to your own defense. Tell me, how does the Gryffindor who never comes in first get off saving such a lowlife? Paying off some of your family's debts, maybe? Oh, I know, Zabini's tongue is good for more than--"
Blaise saw the punch coming. He supposed anyone with half a brain would. Considering how red Ron's face had gotten throughout Macmillan's little show, Blaise was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
Macmillan's face twisted in indignation, aiming a retaliatory shove back, sending Ron stumbling.
Ron caught Macmillan across the jaw. Macmillan whiffed a shoulder swipe.
The crowd around them gathered, some pulling wands, but unsure what to do.
With a shout, Ron shoved Macmillian back, sending them careening onto a table.
Glasses shattered as they grappled. Macmillan swung again, this time Ron ducked and landed a clean punch to his gut, doubling him over.
Muggle fighting was barbaric, but Blaise found the effort both appreciated and...appealing. The once pristine fabric of his dress robes was now tarnished with bits of sparkling glass and scrunched in places where he'd been hit. His undershirt was rucked up enough to display the most tantalizing bit of pale skin. And the fire in his eyes was...breathtaking.
"Ronald, stop!" Blaise heard Granger-- Hermione-- screech. There was the shuffling of fabric, and the distinct slash of a wand through the air. "Patrificus Totalus!"