Draco cleared his throat and Blaise felt the immature urge to roll his eyes. Oh, so they were playing that game again- the one where he pretended to care. Blaise looked up from his textbook– this time locking eyes with Pansy– and started to speak with what Theo lovingly deemed his ‘dickwad smile’. He made sure his voice oozed out sickeningly sweet, no less diplomatic than it was an outright mockery.
“Oh my, to whom should I pay forth my gratitude, for granting me with the presence of a fine lady such as yourself, Miss Parkinson?”
Parkinson looked like she was fighting the urge to walk away right then and there, and Blaise tried not to visibly deflate when she didn’t.
Draco, somehow finding a way to be offended on Pansy’s behalf, glared at him and Blaise couldn’t help but briefly reminisce on the days where the boy used to not be able to look him in the eyes without flinching away. Now the blondie seemed to follow him around like a puppy: yapping, biting, yearning for an inkling of attention. He sighed, good times those were, gone regrettably too soon. Even looking at him now, Draco’s jaw was clenched so tightly Blaise wondered how he even managed to get his words out.
“I apologize, Pansy. Blaise’s an arse, but he will help.”
Draco gave Blaise a pointed look and he couldn’t help the natural tilt of his head. Pansy Parkinson, the Princess of Slytherin, in need of help? Now, this was a story he was eager to hear. It wasn’t everyday one saw a Slytherin asking for help so explicitly- especially not from him. Merlin knows how the latest rumors twisted his reputation; his lack of company before the two snakes arrived was proof enough. In a way, he should have predicted someone would recognize the silvers of truth in the rumors and start to suspect the assets he controlled. But for that person to be Parkinson…
He gestured to the two empty chairs in front of him, “Please, take a seat- I’d feel horrible remaining the only one seated.”
Blaise muttered a quick incantation as the two settled in order to prevent any eavesdroppers from listening in; as much as Blaise loved gossip and drama- preferably not at his expense- he knew this was a conversation only he wanted privy to. He leaned forward and couldn’t stop himself from breaking into an unadulterated grin at Parkinson's flinch.
“The floor’s all yours, darling.”