Flame Thrower (Blairon)

Six Feet Under

Ron slowly walked up to the large, glass clad warehouse in which a terrifying fate lay. Pressing his hand on the glass and metal entrance pad at the door, his stomach churned as his hand print turned green and he was allowed in. The bar looked like it had everytime he had come for training in the months he had been working to get into Hell Fire. Now that he was officially in the gang, he was allowed access with ease and by now, most of the gang would all smile as he walked through the door and either wave or talk to him.

But not today...

Everyone was silent. Seamus wasn't laughing with the bar tender as usual. Groups of people all around the usually happy room had their heads down, as if they were either terrified or sad. Barely any of them drinking. Suddenly, a raven haired head came through the mob of quiet gang members and stared at Ron with sadness in his emerald eyes.

"H-hey, mate," Harry whispered, slowly guiding Ron out of the bar and into the lobby, where even the Hell Fire's belovid and cheerful receptionist, Grant stared aimlessly at his desk. His sniffs echoing through the large, marble polished room.
Ron breathed heavily. His breathing clipped and uncontrolled as Harry finally spoke again. "We saw it on the news. I-I'm so sorry, mate," he whispered, pulling Ron into a hug. Ron attempted relaxing into Harry's embrace but it felt next to impossible after he had just stood by as Theo was killed in the final groundbreaking blow of his mother's diner. He had taken a cab from the Hospital which had dropped him off at the edge of the small hill in which the warehouse lay hidden behind it. Walking a decent few miles, covered in ash and burns, Ron wondered what he would do or say when he finally made it. But now that he was here, all he could do was feel the strong need he felt everyday for the man he accepted as his caretaker. Tired and raspy, Ron spoke after many minutes of silence hugging his best friend. "Where is he?"
Harry let go and sighed, running his hands through his thick, unruly hair. "He went into his office two hours ago and hasn't come back since. Draco, Pansy and Hermione have tried talking to him but he won't let any of us in," Harry stated, his voice incredibly soft and somewhat reassuring. Ron headed straight for Blaise's private elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, leaving Harry in the lobby. The elevator seemed to be going extremely slow. Ron watched as he ascended the tall building, Level 25 seeming years away. He nearly jumped when the fancy elevator chimed and the doors opened to reveal the smaller lobby just before Blaise's office door. There, he found Pansy and Hermione sitting against the marble wall, their heads overlapping each other's. They seemed to notice he had come and relaxed, though tear marks stained their faces. Draco was still standing, his ear to the door. It didn't look like he had been crying but he looked more pail than ever. He was shaking and his knees began buckling. Ron slowly made his way to the door and Draco shifted slightly, allowing him room to knock.

"Blaise?"

The four of them waited for a few seconds before a distant, calm sounding Blaise responded.

Ron walked inside the sunlit office and closed the door behind him with a shaky hand. Blaise had his hands deep in his pockets of his suit, staring out of the prestine floor to ceiling windows like he always did when he needed to think.

He turned around and stared at Ron.

Ron felt everything in his body tense. His muscles felt like stone and his heart was attacking his ribcage. For some reason, he felt as if Blaise were to pull out a gun and shoot him point black in the head. But instead, he walked over to Ron, caressed his hand against his baby's ashened cheek and smiled. It was the saddest smile Ron had ever seen as his head relaxed into Blaise's palm. It was full of grief and respect for his first friend. Ron pulled Blaise into a hug which Blaise seemed to accept gratefully.

"Blaise-"

"Shhh, little one. It's okay. We're okay. Everything's going to be okay,"

Ron frowned, let go of Blaise and brought his freckly hand to his chest. Blaise's heart was beating dangerously fast. "Stop. You just lost someone special to to. You need to rest," he stated, his voice changing in tone. Telling Blaise what to do wasn't something he was used to, but Blaise needed it. Suddenly, the taller man's expression became dark and Ron watched something terrifyingly evil flash behind Blaise's chocolate irises.

"I will rest, when the Son of a bitch who killed my right hand is six feet under,"