Where Were You In The Morning?

Didn't Expect This

Blaise Zabini kept to himself mostly.

After his trials, his Mother left to explore the world with her-lover-of-the-moment and left him the hacienda, and only had him provide her with an allowance, since she had surrendered all wills to the Zabini heir.

He'd lasted a whole month doing the billing and estate management before he grew tired of it, and had a broker come and examine what was salvageable. Blaise ended up reducing the hacienda to a smaller acreage, moved it further into the lands, and convinced the house to break itself into several lodgings. He took shelter in the biggest one.

Vilmouth Hall, the gate read when Blaise had come back from the furniture shop in Diagon Alley with a handful of receipts. He supposed if he'd made the house move, renovate, and split itself, it was okay for it to rename itself, too.

Blaise had managed to convince his financial advisor to let him open his own shop. Just a small watch shop, where he could tinker with cogs and screws and waste time while fixing it. He refused to hire anybody, never could trust them, anyway, so he spent most of his time alone.

If he had permits he needed to renew, he would. All his charms were up to date, standard and regulated by the Ministry itself.

So, believe his surprise when one Ron Weasley comes barreling through his shop door in his Auror uniform, all tight leather and mahogany robes. The crest of the Ministry has been stitched in gold on his left bicep, along with all the ranks he's overcome in the past years.

He looks good.

Well, if it wasn't for the calculating stare he was centering Blaise with.

A frown made it's way across Blaise's features, and after a few awkward seconds of glaring silence, he made an impatient gesture.

"Can I bloody-well help you, Weasley?"

"You marked me. That night in the alley."

Blaise rolls his eyes and goes back to focusing on the pocket watch Mrs. Berkeley had dropped off last week. He was behind schedule, from dealing with his shipments coming on time and an unexpected dark curse on a grandfather clock. He didn't need anymore distractions.

"Wonderful observation skills, Weasley," he drawls, turning a cog before levitating it carefully.

"Why?"

"It's called a love-bite, you dolt. It's supposed to be a way to show people that you're taken."

"Taken," Ron sputters an unbelieved laugh. "Taken by whom? By you?"

"Unless you've gone and gotten a tattoo of my name on your forehead, then no. Not by me. By anyone."

Ron frowns. Blaise doesn't see it, then again he doesn't have to. He just knows.

"I don't understand."

"People see you're marked, they stay away. Common sense, Weasley, keep up."

A sudden smack on the counter makes Blaise jump, and he drops the cog that was being levitated. The lapels of his robe are caught and he's being hauled up. He meets the angry blue eyes of Ron Weasley.

"I know how that works. What I don't understand is why you would mark me and not gloat. What are you playing at?"

Blaise rolls his eyes again, swatting at Ron hands to leave his clothing be. "Quit ruining my wardrobe, it's quite annoying."

"Answer me and I'll leave you alone."

"There's no point in asking a question you already know the answer to, is there?" Blaise flourishes his hand and walks around the counter. He hears the footfalls of Ron's boots behind him and resists the urge to exhale in disdain. "You told me to stay away, and I did, so I don't see what the issue is."

"The issue," Ron growls, yanking his arm and throwing him against a glass case. He rounds on him, taking his lapels again and lifting him to eye level. "Is that you listened to me. Why?"

"Is it so hard to believe that someone will pay attention to you," Blaise asks harshly, closing his hands around Ron's wrists as he pushes on his toes to get in his face. "Is it that hard to accept that there are people who are willing to do as you ask? I'm not who you think I am, Weasley."

Ron immediately lets him go and steps back, his calculating gaze as blue and cold as the night sky. "What do you want from me?"

"Stop doing that," Blaise snaps. "You know what I want. I made it clear. Now get out. I have a job to be doing, and it looks like you do, too. Come bother me another day."

Blaise stomps off without gauging the redhead's reaction. He pushes into the stock room and leans on the inventory table, exhaling and letting his shoulders drop when he hears the bell of the door.

It's not difficult to understand what he wants. He wants Ron. Plain and simple.

Or maybe his advancements are too detailed? Maybe Ron is actually a Hufflepuff and he can't decipher the way Blaise flirts.

No, that's not right. Ron might act stupid, but that's just because his friends treat him like that. Blaise knows he's smart, he's brilliant, actually.

Ron passed the Auror exam with flying colors, every part of it. The deduction, the written, the verbal, the observation portion, and the physical. Blaise was well-informed thanks to his actual Hufflepuff friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley, who gave a detailed description of Ron's muscles while under exertion--shirtless.

So if Ron understands his advancements but just isn't interested, that's fine. At least Blaise tried. It's not like this is the first time he's been rejected. Theodore Nott and Draco both let him down easy, despite Blaise's desperate attempts to obtain their attention.

Blaise winces as he remembers just how desperate he used to be. He'd known back in school he liked boys, he just wanted to solidify that knowledge by putting proof to the hypothesis. Adding data.

It'd been unsuccessful.

He'd also changed a few times since then.

He sighs, twirling his wand as he exits the stock room, swishing it to summon the previously lost cog. It lands in his hand with a happy spring, and Blaise purses his lips.

Perhaps Pansy might know a bit more about flirting with boys.