Flame Thrower (Blairon)

The Dinner: Part 1

"You did what?!" Hermione screeched, gripping harshly at her own hair. "I invited Z to dinner," Ron whispered and Hermione's eye twitched. "Ron. You-I. Your parents, like any sensible person, hate the Flame Thrower. What are you going to do when he gets to uncle Sirius's house in a cop car with handcuffs on? A gun against his head incase? Huh?!" She shouted and Ron flinched. "He won't do anything. He's not like that!" He shouted back and Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Besides. I'll be there with him. He won't do anything I say he shouldn't," Ron said and she rolled her eyes. "How do you know?!" She asked and Ron signed. "Uncle Sirius will be there. He's been to jail he's been accused of shit he didn't do. I'm sure they'll get along well enough for my parents to lay it low!" He said hysterically and Hermione put her hands firm on her hips. "Uncle Sirius was accused ! The Flame Thrower is responsible for everything he's done, Ron. I don't think your parents and siblings will appreciate having a serial killer stuck to their sin like a moth to a lamp!" She shouted, storming off as Ron gave up and rested his head against Harry' shoulder. "Would this be a good time to tell Ginny?"
"Tell Ginny what?"
Ron practically jumped two feet in the air as he stared at his sister. "I invited someone to dinner," he whispered and Ginny narrowed her eyes, her eyebrow raised. "And who might that be?" She asked and Ron gulped, glancing at Harry for help. "Z,"
He whispered and before Ginny could start her rant, he put a freckly hand in front of her face. "I don't want to hear it. He's coming. End of story," and with that, he grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him off.

Meanwhile, Blaise lay awake in bed. He didn't like sleeping. Yes, it was vital to one's health but when he slept, his mind thought that it was apparently necessary and appropriate to bring up old memories. Well, technically one specific memory.
The bane of his existence.
He nonchalantly took out the the small purple fire lighter Ron had given him and  weaved it through his lithe fingers. He wanted to burn something. He needed to burn something. But he couldn't. Suddenly, an alarm went off to his left, jerking him out of his stupor. Time to take my meds, he thought, grabbing his phone to switch the irritating noise off. He opened his bedside cabinet and shakily took out a bottle if pills.
He hated taking medicine. It made him feel less than and weak. But he knew that if he didn't take them, he would do some messed up shit. He couldnt risk hurting Ron.
Maybe others, sure.
But Ron? Never.
In all honesty, Blaise loved it when he didn't take his pills. He felt like himself. Like he wasn't being drugged to act a certain way. But unfortunately, that's how it had to be. He plopped the pill into his mouth before opening another bottle and taking one pill form inside it too. Swallowing the lot, he grimaced. He opened a third bottle, thankfully the last one and took out the last pill. The worst pill. The sleeping pill. He groaned before eating it, shaking his head violently as he swallowed. He put the containers back on his bedside drawer before laying back down on his bed. Suddenly, the door opened and voices rang in his ears. But they were faint. Like blury noises in the back of his head. He suddenly felt the end of his bed sink and he sat up, slightly dazed due to the pills slowly taking effect. "Hey, you alright?" Ron asked quietly and Blaise scooted closer to him. "I'm fine. I just took my pills, that's all," he sighed, leisurely feeling his mind doze off.
Before Ron knew it, there was a head on his shoulder and loud snoring filled the room. He chuckled and lay Blaise on his bed properly, draping a blanket over him. He looked around quickly. Harry was still in the bathroom so with a clear conscious, he gave Blaise a small kiss on the forehead.

The next day, Ron was nervous. He had talked to McGonagall about letting Blaise go and she had agreed, only if the house was guarded which Ron agreed too. His dad was picking himself, Harry, Hermione and Ginny up at four. The Head of Blaise's police guard, Officer Andrew said Blaise would get there at half past five. That means Ron had half an hour to mentally prepare himself for hell. He was practically shaking as his dad's blue van pulled up in the school driveway and he got in with Harry, Hermione and Ginny.
"All ready?" Arthur asked, looking through the rear view mirror to address the three teenagers sitting in the back seats, Ginny sitting in the passenger's seat next to him. The Golden Trio nodded and Arthur stepped on the gas.
The drive was quiet and tense. With every stop light they halted at, Ron's insides started churning more to the point where Harry gave him his coat because he thought Ron was shivering too much. It was almost December so Ron had an excuse.

(They follow the same school pattern as Hogwarts does)

Technically, the dinner was a pre-Christmas dinner because Harry, Sirius and Remus had plans to go to Shanghai that Christmas. Soon enough, the van pulled up to a large, mint blue,  two story house with a large garden, a tennis court, a pool and a white roof. Ron had always loved Harry's godparent's house and he often wished he lived there instead of the Burrow. But alas, he wasn't allowed to sleep over much. With school and football, he and Harry could only visit on weekends.
(Fine, I know I said I'd keep calling it Quidditch but I'm changing my mind)
Ron left the car and was immediately being engulfed by curly, ginger hair. "Hey mum," he said, trying not to wince. Molly beamed at the children, giving each of them large hugs. "Come, come. Harry dear your godfathers are inside," she grinned, guiding  everyone into the house. When they got far enough up the driveway, Ron could clearly see Bill, Fred and George playing basketball on the court. Ginny ran to join them whilst Hermione, like usual, sat down on the bench near the court and watched. But both Ron and Harry knew the real prise lay in the kitchen.
"CHARLIE!" Harry screamed and Charlie Weasley beamed at him, getting up slowly from his perch on the kitchen counter. "Harry, Ron. Finally people worth talking too!" Charlie sighed and Ron almost jumped when a voice sounded from the kitchen sink. "Hey!" Screeched a short man with tattoos galore, long, dark hair, dark eyes and a contagious smile, quite offended by Charlie's statement. "I'm sorry uncle but it's true," Charlie said, shrugging and Ron and Harry laughed, whereas Sirius narrowed his eyes on the three of them. After what felt like a few seconds of talking to Charlie, the door bell rang and Ron's stomach fell.

Blaise was here...