The amount of times Blaise saw Ron for the next few weeks were scarce. He goes hours just staring into space, thinking back to that night, that one night he tried to avoid. He would space out so often that Draco began to get seriously worried, which was saying something because the only time Draco ever worried was when it had to do with his mother.
He was bundled in his covers, the remnants of Ron's scent had faded long ago but he refused to wash them, staring at nothing in particular. His room always felt too cold lately. No matter how many blankets he tossed over himself or how many layers he's bury himself in, the cold always somehow managed to seep into his bones.
Not even the strongest warming charm seemed to help.
"It has nothing to do with that," he comes back to when he hears Pansy's nasally voice ringing in the corridor somewhere. "At least, I hope not."
"He hasn't left his room in three days, Pansy. Let alone eaten a full meal or had a proper shower. If Weasley leaving that morning has anything to do with it--"
Both his best friends straighten up when his door opens, and he looks down to find he was the one that did it. When had he gotten up?
"Blaise?"
He looks up from his hands, locks eyes with Pansy's. There's something wrong with them. "Yes?"
Draco and Pansy share a look, most likely from the state of his voice. How long had it been since he last spoke?
"Lunch is about to start, mate," Draco says. He takes a slow step forward and gives Blaise a gentle smile. "The second years are wondering where you are. They miss you."
Second years? Oh, yes. The cute round little ones that like to daze behind him. He likes those, he supposes.
"Oh," is all he says.
"And. And Millicent came back," Pansy says excitedly, nodding with Draco. "She hasn't seen you, she's wondering where you've been. She opened up that salon you two always blabbed on about."
Millicent Bullstrode. His partner in business. He remembers her, too. Nice girl. Smart.
"Millie," Blaise hums.
"Yes," Pansy's round face looks relieved. "Yes, Millie. She wants to see you, too."
A low growl interrupts what Draco is about to say, and they all look down at Blaise's stomach. The blond is the first to break the silence with a chuckle.
"Well, I'd say that's as good a sign as any, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, that's right. I heard the elves are serving that radish stew you like so much."
Radish stew. Blaise likes radish stew. "Okay."
His best friends share one more look before they smile at Blaise brightly. He leaves the door open for them as he walks back in, heads straight for his closet. He pulls off gray woolen sweater and a pair of black jeans he borrowed from Draco once. He debates on taking his coat, looks at the window and the frost climbing up the glass and shrugs.
Draco is leaning on the arm chair, looking at the ground and Pansy's heels are clicking from her pacing when he walks back out, his coat held tightly in one hand.
"It's cold," he says as explanation when they both stare at him.
Pansy smiles at him and nods. She holds out her hand. "Let's go."
The walk to the Great Hall is eerily quiet. Only the rustle of their clothes as they huddle together in the middle of the corridor echoes off the wall.
