A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Nine

He doesn't see Ron look back and shake his head with a knowing smile. "You're enjoying this too much."

"You're letting me enjoy this," Blaise points out.

"You know you've gone soft in the head, right?"

Blaise knows. Of course he knows. But there's just something about this infuriating redhead Weasley that makes his lungs dry out and he can't complain.

It's a personal problem, Blaise thinks. I need to get this out of my system.

Yes. Yes, that's it. He'll get it out of his system and then he can walk away without feeling guilty because he won't feel anything. Yes. Blaise will do just that.

Blaise clears his head and turns a lopsided smile towards Ron. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ron laughs. "You're letting your mortal enemy manhandle you down two flights of stairs without a care in the world of who sees you."

"I am showing people my new friend. Plus, it's not like I can stand up to you, you big lug. All brawn and no brain. You clearly need me."

"Oh, shove off," Ron laughs again. "I sought out Malfoy, you were just included in the package."

Blaise pouts.

"You do have the habit of jumping right behind Malfoy." Ron shrugs, pulling him around the corner. "You just have better self-preservation instincts."

The Slytherin can't fathom how much Ron seems to know about him and he's left a gaping mess as they cross the threshold of the library. "Is spying a Gryffindor attribute? Because I distinctly remember a very good friend of yours likes to go around thinking he's invisible."

"It's called observing," Ron rolls his eyes. He weaves around the bookshelves and his hand slides down to hold on Blaise's wrist, and Blaise hardly has time to object because he's being set down into the chair he was sitting in last time. He sees Ron flick his wand and then theres several books sliding out of shelves and lightly floating onto the table in front of them.

You have to show me how to do that, is on the tip of Blaise's tongue, but he takes a breath and sits back. He notices there's already an ink pot and two quills set out on top of a layer of parchment. Blaise lifts a brow. "A study date?"

And, of course, Ron only laughs. "You wish, Zabini."

He takes a quill and a piece of paper, opens his book and digs his nose in.

"You stole me to read?"

Ron ignores him, hums absently and flips the page. Blaise scowls.

"And now you're ignoring me?"

Ron looks up with raised eyebrows. "Was I supposed to buy you dinner first," he mocks. "Or knock on the dungeon portrait?"

Blaise almost flushes. "Yes."

The Gryffindor rolls his eyes. "We can go to Hogsmeade later. I just want to finish this stack."

Now there is definitely something making his chest cave. Very dangerous. Blaise leans forward in interest. "Are you serious?"

Ron looks up again, but he only seems confused. "If you're hungry, I'll buy your dinner. It's Saturday, the food selection isn't all that great on weekends in the Great Hall, most of the elves that were freed were the good cooks. Plus, it's the least I could do for you helping me."

Blaise looks smug again, he throws an arm over the back of his chair and picks up his book. "So you are taking me on a date."

Ron rolls his eyes, yet again. "If you weren't Italian, I'd be seriously worried."

The Slytherin doesn't read a single word. He spends his time looking out the window at the flurries of snow that drift down from the sky. He's not even thinking either, he's just enjoying the serenity of the winter wonderland outside and the quiet inhales that Ron is taking every time he turns the page.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then readjusts his legs over the other. He freezes when the toe of his shoe grazes against Ron's ankle, which is outstretched a ridiculous amount from how tall he is.

Blaise takes the opportunity to move when he sees Ron doesn't react, and slowly retracts his foot. That is, until Ron looks up.

They lock eyes and Ron traps Blaise's ankle between his own. "You haven't read at all," he says slowly. He rolls his eyes lazily over Blaise's body; his shoulders, his neck, his face. "What's on your mind?"

It takes a moment for Blaise to remember how to breathe, and when he does he also doesn't move his eyes from Ron's. "Nothing," he says honestly.

Ron frowns. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know," Blaise says again. It really bothers him how he knows if he tried lying, Ron would see right through it. His anger bristles. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"It doesn't matter? You're trying to tell me that if you fainted, right here, you wouldn't kick yourself about it for weeks?"

Blaise scowls. He knew it.

"When was the last time you ate?" Ron asks again. Blaise opens his mouth to answer and the Gryffindor gives him a look. "A proper meal."

"I don't know," Blaise leans back in the chair. "The last time I saw you, I suppose."

"That was last week!"

"Unlike you, Weasley," Blaise drawls. "I have a pit with an ending. Which means I can preserve sustenance far longer than you can."

"That doesn't mean...!"

Blaise leans forward again, lays his hand on Ron's wrist and watches Ron quiet down with the angry flush to his cheeks intensifying. "I don't need to eat much, yes? I think you understand what scarcity is. It's okay, I'm not starving. I'm perfectly healthy."

They stare each other down for a second before Ron sighs and lowers his head, lays in on Blaise's overlaying hand on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I just...I remember Harry, and how thin he used to be. I just...I associate it with a bad thing. Not eating. It sets off an alarm in my head."

Blaise snorts. "Yeah, I can tell."

Ron's cheeks flush a vibrant shade of pink.

"I suppose," Blaise says dramatically, leaning back and unhooking his ankle from Ron's after realizing it was still comfortably laying between his feet. "If it makes you feel better, we can go eat."