Blaise Zabini was...bad.
There was no other way to describe him, really.
Yes, he did his homework, and yes, he turned it in on time. That didn't mean Blaise wasn't downright nasty. Oh, no. Blaise Zabini was the epitome of bad.
Good grades? Maybe. Effort in class? Definitely not.
Polite to the public? Oh, yes. Rude snips to familiars? Always.
Good sportsmanship? Of course. Fair player? Never.
But never once had Ron experienced any of his paradox personality. No. He just observed from afar.
And, somehow, it became something automatic.
Ron would be walking down the hall, or laughing at a joke Seamus had pulled on a fourth year, or just listening to Hermione talk and talk and talk about Viktor Krum and his accent.
He'd roll his eyes and spare a glance at his surroundings--because that was normal, it was okay, the impending post-war trauma had nothing to do with it, no--and all of a sudden all he could see was a pair of dark chocolate eyes and thick lips pulled into a half smirk.
They had never exchanged a snide remark, or worse, pleasantries, specially not after he saved his bloody life. And worst, Harry was always blabbing about Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy that looking in the direction of the Dark Trio became second nature.
However, stealing glances at the melanin-toned Slytherin, the high cheekbones and full smile, was something he hadn't anticipated.
Always smiling at something, Ron noticed.
At Pansy Parkinson, at his Transfiguration essays, around his fork at dinner when Goyle seemed to say something simply hilarious that he couldn't wait to laugh until after he was done chewing.
And sometimes, very few times, at Ron.
It was confusing. But also very alluring.
Someone with as much physical caliber as Blaise Zabini, with a lithe form and flawless skin shouldn't be able to just exist.
There was something ethereal about him. He seemed to be carved by the Greek, from marble, with the way his jaw just ended and his neck began smoothly. And as godly as he was, he also exhumed something...bad.
It was illegal, really. And very, very unfair.
Because Blaise Zabini would just be walking down the corridor, with his taught trousers clinging to his slim waist, his robe open because the blasted snake knew.
He knew he was always being admired; from every angle, from every house, from every gender.
Anyway.
Walking down the corridor, right. And Ron would do his usual sweep of the area but his eyes would just stop at Blaise Zabini and his perfect bone structure.
Speak of the devil.
Curse Renata Zabini and her Italian genes.
"-tonight, alright? Ron? Ron, are you listening?"
"What," Ron drags his eyes away from Blaise's bottom lip, which had been pulled in between his teeth and was now glistening with his saliva after being released. He clears his throat and turns to Hermione. "What?"
Hermione just rolls her eyes and holds her Arithmancy books closer to her chest. Ron guessed it's from the advanced class, which McGonagall didn't allow her to take due to the four other advanced classes she was already taking.
