Chapter Text
Potter looked essentially the same as the last time Blaise had seen him, roughly twelve years ago. At the battle of Hogwarts when Potter had been blood-streaked and grimy and most everyone present had stunk of death surrounded by death and relief, deeply hidden under unrelenting grief because the megalomaniac noseless usurper’s reign had come to an end. So, Potter looked the same. Short, slender build from what Blaise can see from Potter’s muggle hoodie, unruly hair that apparently found its joy in defying gravity. He was hunched over his desk in the office he shared with Draco in the Auror department, scribbling furiously on the parchment in front of him with a toppling accompanying pile of parchment teetering on the edge. A fountain pen in his hand, clasped between his fingers, plum strawberry pink lips, bleeding white, tucked between his teeth as he concentrated.
Blaise ripped his gaze away from Potter with difficulty and shifted it to Draco. The one he came to see. Draco, the lazy sod, who was sprawled in his high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair as much as his long limbs allowed him with his eyes closed and head lolling to the side facing Blaise. The pretentious-looking reading glasses, with the gold rims and pearl beaded hang chain, he normally wore hanged precariously on his nose.
Was this how they defeated crime? By being basically unobservant and lacking preservation skills? Blaise had been leaning against their office doorframe for five minutes straight, hands in his jeans pockets and not once had either of them indicated or seemed to have noticed his presence.
With a sigh, he straightened from his position and strolled further into the office. “Either you’re a skiver or you’ve been well-shagged and you’re sleeping off the effects. Which is it, Draco?”
There was a strangled sound and a pause in the light scratch of pen on paper from behind him and the feeling of eyes boring into his back, but Blaise's sole focus was on the spectacle Draco was making as he hastily straightened up, limbs flailing, one knee cracking loudly against the underside of his desk and his palms slapping against its surface with a hard snap. Blaise watched amused as Draco blinked, four slow ones, and spared him a look that promised retribution before a large grin overtook his face and he jumped up from his seat to round his desk.
“Merlin saggy tits, Blaise. Did you have to do that?”
Blaise received an armful of blond hair and long limbs as they hugged. He’d missed Draco and all his other friends while he was away on the Continent. Owling and Floo calls, sporadic visits, and mobile messaging wasn’t the same as in-person contact. The very reason he was actively working to change that, having just come from signing a few contracts.
He held on tightly to Draco for a long moment before releasing him.
“Dramatic queen, of course, I had to. It’s funny. Although, I do hope it’s the latter and you’ve been well-fucked. You look good.”
And Draco did look good. Happy and far healthier than the last time Blaise had seen him in the flesh. As if he’d finally settled into himself, accepting all the parts that made him, him, and was well pleased with the results.
Settling on the edge of his desk Draco flipped him the bird.
“Arsehole. You never mentioned you were coming for a visit, and we exchanged owls just last week. And I messaged you like two days ago.”
“Surprise.”
He wasn’t back in England for a visit, only. Not this time. But he’d share the details with Draco when he was sure Draco wouldn’t go about throttling him for withholding the information.
“Does Pans know?” he asked slyly.
“No. I know better than to get in-between your weird rivalry about who’s in the know first. I’m off to visit her next anyway.”
“You visited me first, though," he said smugly.
Blaise arched an eyebrow. It said all he needed to say, and Draco’s grin broadened. Draco was Blaise’s first-ever friend and although he’d turned into an absolute prick at one point which had filled Blaise with the strong urge to drown him in the Black Lake a few times and then a scared shadow of himself at another where Blaise was ready to kidnap him and hide him away from ruin and destruction, keeping him safe until everything had settled down Blaise would never trade him for the world. Even when Blaise’s mother had tried taking him out of Hogwarts when the war had really started raging racking up untold death tolls Blaise had set his foot down determined to be there for his friends who were more like family at that point. So, Blaise had no doubt that Draco knew he would always come first.
“You remember Potter?” Draco asked abruptly.
Everything went still on the other side of the room.
Blaise turned a confused look on Draco. Of course, he remembered Potter. Who wouldn’t? Especially those who’d gone to school with the Harry Potter. The Saviour of the Wizarding World.The Boy Who Lived twice and all that rot. The Man Who Refused to Die. The Chosen One. According to all The Daily Prophet’s articles that had circled the Wizarding World for months after the defeat of Voldemort.
Furthermore, Blaise found it weird that after all this time as Auror partners Draco still addressed Harry Potter as well Potter. Blaise had had his ears rung right off when Draco had Internationally Floo called him in a strop to complain all about being partnered with Potter after the end of their Auror Training program. At one point Blaise had wondered if Draco had a pash on Potter because he’d complained a bit too much and a smidgen too loudly and had been absolutely horrible to Potter when they were children. The equivalent of trying his damnest best to gain his attention, whether good or bad. Exactly what a person would do when crushing hard on someone but lacking the emotional maturity and basic communication skills to tell their crush how they felt in straightforward terms. But then the complaints had slowly tapered off and according to Draco, Potter wasn’t so bad just a little challenged as he’d told Blaise although Blaise didn’t know what just a little challenged meant regarding Potter. Point was the last time he’d spoken to Draco, Draco and Potter were friends.
Blaise turned to him now. “Potter.”
Potter’s head lifted and their eyes met. His lips were red and glistening from where they’d been held captive between his teeth, voice a little flat when he said, “Zabini.”
Blaise could admit he stared. A little too long. Potter looked the same. Except he didn’t. Not quite. His glasses were different. Instead of the cheap-looking outdated round spectacles he’d been famous for back in Hogwarts, he now sported black square-framed ones. They suited him much better. But his eyes snagged and held Blaise’s attention. The vibrant green was overshadowed by shadows upon shadows and there were dark half-moon smudges sitting beneath them. The defiant spark entirely missing.
Potter looked exhausted. And not the physical kind that with enough rest and nutrients he’d be right as rain. No, he looked exhausted in that gutted way that held many sleepless nights and torment. Something Blaise understood intimately. He’d seen the same look on his own face one too many times. The long years that followed after his father had died when his eyes had become empty sockets of unrelenting sorrow. During and after the war when his head had been a pulsing mess after the many losses and destruction he’d witnessed, heart sore heavy, and battered, shoulders weighed down by horror and fear. He’d left England not too long after that, angry and restless, despair itching under his skin, in search of something he couldn’t have put a name to at the time. But he’d found it eventually - peace.
Now staring at Potter, Blaise had the sudden urge to feed him or hug him or both.
Merlin, he needed to get out of there.
Potter dropped his eyes first and went back to his paperwork. A flush worked its way up his neck to settle in his cheeks.
An awkward hush fell across the room and Blaise turned back to Draco, whose eyes were flickering thoughtfully between him and Potter.
When Draco’s eyes settled back on him, Blaise said, “See you soon, Draco. I’ve got things to do.”
“You’re staying at The House?”
The House, small and cozy with its glass walls surrounded by lush trees all around and housing a cellar full of vintage wine worth a million galleons at least was the home Blaise’s father – and his mother’s first husband – had built and gifted to Blaise’s mother on their first wedding anniversary. Blaise’s mother had then gifted it to him when he’d come of age. The lasting memories they shared in the house couldn’t outweigh the fact that Blaise’s father was gone, his mother had said. So, every time Blaise came home, he barricaded himself in The House despite having many other options to choose from, finding solace and peace in the privacy it offered.
“Yeah, stop by later. I’ve unlocked the Floo.”
Blaise exchanged another hug with Draco. Then he left but not before he shot another glance at Potter’s bent head. Potter’s shoulder’s stiffened as if he knew he was being watched.
Blaise continued out the door.
********
“You call that fashion,” Pansy said, judging him, as soon she opened the door.
“It’s muggle fashion, Pans,” he said and swooped her up in a careful hug, mindful of her noticeable baby bump.
She giggled and squeezed him extra tightly for a second before loosening her grip. He set her on her feet and took in the long dark hair spilling down her back and make-up-free face. She was beautiful. Growing her hair out from the sharp bob she’d kept it in for years had done wonders for her overall look. Made her softer looking. Younger looking too.
“You have no idea how much I missed you.”
“Then move back home. Otherwise, I’m finding it hard to believe you actually miss me.”
He squashed the sly smile trying to fight its way onto his face.
She led him further into the house, bypassing the reception area and the sitting room, into the kitchen. Their house-elf, Mopsey, was there.
Mopsey curtsied first to Pansy. “Mistress Longbottom." And then she turned to him. “Mister Zabini.”
“I’ll take over from here, Mopsey,” Pansy said.
“As you wishes, Mistress Longbottom,” Mopsey answered before disappearing with a crack.
“Call me Pansy!”
Pansy turned to him with a longsuffering sigh. “You know how many times I’ve told her to call me Pansy. I can’t begin to count. You know how many times Mopsey has ignored me. Every single time.”
Blaise took the small bag he’d shrunk down from his jeans pocket and set it on the counter. Foregoing his wand he muttered, “Engorgio.”
He’d picked up on a few wandless magic techniques from his mother and then during his time traveling through Africa in one of the Wizarding communities in Botswana.
The bag and its contents returned to their original size. Long used to his display of wandless magic Pansy simply said, “I’m supposed to have coffee somewhere around here.”
Something else he’d come to appreciate during his time away. Coffee hit better every time compared to tea. Some Bazzara Dodicigrancru finely grounded beans to be exact, which made him think of lazy summer mornings and the innocence of childish laughter and uninhibited joy untarnished by grief.
But Pansy was a mess at coffee making and didn’t have the espresso machine he couldn’t live without. She was much better at preparing a tea set, so he said, “Tea is fine, and these are for you and Neville.” He pushed the bag closer to her hand resting on the kitchen island. “Is he home?”
She nodded her head in the affirmative. “Greenhouse. He’s tending to his Devil’s Snares.”
She pulled the bag close and peered inside then began digging through it. She pulled out the Diante necklace from Emeraude – an expensive jewelry store in France, with her birthstone, chrysoprase, for peace of mind and enthusiasm, nestled in the center. It’d cost him a small fortune, but Blaise didn’t mind. He loved his friends.
Pansy gasped. “Blaise, you didn’t.”
“It’s only ever the one thing you’ve been talking about every time we spoke.”
“I love you. A whole lot.”
“Love you too, Pans.”
It was always easy like this between them. Since they’d only had each other to rely on when the Wizarding World at one point was against all things Slytherin. And the early post-war world had been anything but peaceful and forgiving.
They didn’t have any other way to be with each other except real.
She continued rifling through the bag, pulling out the rest of the gifts he’d gotten her and Neville with more gasps of pleasure.
By the time they settled on one of the plush settees in the sitting room with a cup of tea in each of their hands Pansy wasted no time in shoving her bare feet onto his thighs. Blaise drained his teacup before placing the empty teacup and saucer set on the tray sitting on the glassed coffee table. Then he rested light fingers on Pansy’s feet and started in with a gentle massage.
“That feels amazing.” She speared him with a quizzical brow. “How long you’re staying this time?”
“We’ll see.”
She sighed. “That’s what you always say. It’s not the same without you around Blaise.”
It was hard to miss the rancid sourness of sadness in her voice if he tried. Well, he had a surprise for all of them, but it’d be better if they all heard it from him at the same time.
“You just flit in and out of our lives and did I tell you I’m having a baby. A real whole baby!” She patted her stomach with loving fingers and a wistful smile. “I won’t be able to come to see you for a while after this child is done with me. Merlin, I don’t even want to think about the childbirth process right now. But you know how I hate traveling by Portkeys and those International Floos makes me sick. I can’t imagine doing any of that after this child comes. I really need you here, Blaise. I literally can’t have a child and you’re not around." She sniffed. "You’re meant to be godfather and I refuse to have my child grow up without their godfather around. Who else is meant to teach them responsibility and values and how to be cool under pressure and all that stuff? Outside of Gregg, you’re the calmest of all of us combined. You cannot be halfway around the world when my child needs you.”
“Oh, Pans. I’m truly honored.” He drew her into a hug, eyes bright with tears and heart soft because he was truly touched by her request. “I’ll be here.”
“You promise?” she asked wetly.
Even if he hadn’t already made plans to settle down back in England her request alone would have probably clinched the deal for him.
“Yeah.”
She nodded once, wiping her knuckles under her eyes to dispel the wetness. But it didn’t look like she believed him. He felt gutted by that.
Lifting her legs onto his thighs once more he continued massaging her feet. “So, have you found out what you’re having yet?”
“No, Nev and I wanted to wait for a bit. I think I want to do one of those thingies, a gender reveal party, with our closest friends and families. I’ve seen them on the Tube. They look positively amazing.”
It took a while for Blaise to realize she meant YouTube. After the war, they’d challenged themselves to learn more about muggles and muggle culture by association that a sizable percentage of wizardkind had despised so much, that it triggered two wars within two decades. It had helped Blaise that his mother had regular business dealings with muggles and that he’d spent parts of his Summer and most of his Christmas holidays in Salerno, a Southern town in Italy interacting with the muggle population and some of his earlier years in Botswana, Africa with his Nkuku doing the same. His mother hadn’t cared. Had in fact encouraged it since she didn’t care about bloodlines as much as her counterparts did. Because while Blaise’s mother was a Pureblood, his father hadn’t been. Still, Blaise had kept that part of his life painfully hidden every time he’d returned to Hogwarts. So, he’d had no trouble adapting to muggle terminology while his friends had floundered, sometimes still did as was the case with Pansy. Although she owned a laptop and a telly. Collectively they’d figured out how to charm them to work in magical surroundings without sparking a catastrophe.
Blaise preferred his telly over the Wireless any day of the week anyway.
“Go for it.”
“Oh, we should have brunch a day in next week. If you’re still around by then. Just us, the old gang. Together in one place. We could have it here in the garden. I’ll get Nev and Mopsey to help me set up.”
“Pans, honey, who are you talking to?” Blaise heard Neville’s voice coming around the corner before he appeared, shirt sleeves rolled up to showcase tanned, well-muscled forearms. Neville Longbottom had grown up nicely. And had obviously just come from the shower based on the sweet ginger and thyme scent wafting off his body and his fresh-faced cleanliness. “Oh, heya Blaise. Didn’t know you were in town.”
“Yeah, just popped ‘round to see my favorite girl.”
Pansy wiggled her toes in his grasp. “He brought us presents!"
Neville blinked. Always surprised whenever Blaise included him in his gift-giving circle. He was married to Pansy, of course, Blaise wouldn't dream of leaving him out. “Blimey, thanks mate.”
Pansy turned on the Wireless and Neville settled down beside her. She leaned her upper body against Neville's chest and even though his arms came up to wrap around her waist, she kept her feet on Blaise’s thighs.
Long after more cups of tea, quiet conversation mainly between Blaise and Pansy, Neville content to silently listen to the ebb and flow of their chatter, and Pansy’s yawning Blaise patted her legs and said, “Time for me to go, Pans. Owl or message me the details for the brunch.”
They both stood up when he did. Pansy hugged him tightly and Neville shook his hand. She leaned back comfortably into Neville’s chest as Blaise took a pinch of their Floo powder from the bowl on the mantle and stepped into the fireplace. He called out his address and was carried away in a rush of green flames.
When he got home, to the quiet atmosphere and the greenery outside the glass doors, he headed straight to his espresso machine, in need of a good strong cup of fortifying coffee with the hope he can purge the unrelenting thoughts of Potter that had crept up on him the moment he left Pansy's home from his head.