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drjackandmissjo · 3 years ago

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I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you

(but I’ll do what I must for there’s no me without you)

*** Set throughout the course of their 7th and final year at Hogwarts, this story follows Slytherin's finest and one of the only sane members of the House, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates war-torn friendships, school under a dictatorial regime, Death Eaters and, most importantly, his secret relationship with none other than the new leader of the DA, known blood-traitor, Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom.

A sequel to my previous story: Firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 1 --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic masterlist

29th of July 1997

“I have to admit: I enjoyed the film way more than I expected to,” he said once they had left the muggle theatre. The air had become chilly during the time they had spent inside, but neither of them was bothered by that: they were used to colder climates, after all, spending most of the year in Scotland. And for all its spells and constant fires, one thing always must be said about Hogwarts: certain rooms and corners had never seen the light of the sun and they surely behaved as such, even during warm days.

Like the Potions classrooms, while Snape was their Professor. Those dungeon rooms looked and smelled and felt every bit of humidity that came from being so close to the lake and that, even with the countless explosions that Theo and the Fire Kid from Gryffindor caused with each lesson, could never get anything warmed up. A Hungarian Horntail could breathe fire in there for 24 hours straight and it would still be humid and wet and cold.

It was a good thing Professor Slughorn had decided to move the classrooms up on the fourth floor, in rooms full of windows and light. Blaise could have easily gone without having to add to his ever-growing list of worries his skin getting dehydrated with the stained and stale air that circulated down there.

He watched from the corner of his eye Neville nod along to his statement in agreement, before casually running a hand through his hair and messing them up even further. No matter how hard he tried to keep them neat and proper, like his grandmother wanted them to be, the strands appeared to have a life on their own, especially when certain Slytherin hands had free reign in between them whenever they were alone.

Besides, it really wasn’t Blaise’s fault: Neville had decided he wanted to grow them out, instead of cutting them just as his grandmother suggested on the daily, and, much to Blaise’s happiness, now his bangs framed his face divinely, making for a perfect place to leave his hands whenever they were else occupied.

He also enjoyed the way Neville would scoff in pretended annoyance whenever he disarrayed them and then would shake his head in disbelief at his antics, aiding Blaise’s purpose even further.

And, really, who could blame him? If Blaise wasn’t as in love with the dorky plant-head Gryffindor as he already was, he’d fall even harder at the sight of him with his funky tousled hair and puffy lips as he took a bite out of Blaise’s food without asking first.

He had been so glad that day, having bought a muggle camera that worked similarly to a magical one but that was way easier to manage. He had taken dozens of stills of them, never seeming to get enough of Neville’s smiling face and of his own relaxed and happy one. For Salazar’s soul, he had even sent one of the two of them smiling to his mother, after she kept on asking to at least see the young man that had enchanted her son.

She had replied to his letter the following day, with a simple: “Rule number fifty-one: don’t let him go.”

Blaise had never once wanted to disappoint his mother and definitely wouldn’t start now.

“I don’t really like the way it ended, though. The part where J removed K’s memories was a nice touch, but I feel like we didn’t have enough time with neither,” Neville commented, shoving his hands inside his jeans’ pockets as they kept on walking further and further away from the theatre, undoubtedly to stop himself from doing something idiotic like holding Blaise’s hand when there were still people around.

Given the current political and non-political air that permeated both the Wizarding World and Britain, the two young men had decided that it would be best to limit their encounters only to muggle areas in London, although they would still have to maintain a rather low and inconspicuous profile. It had become incredibly easy to be together without raising suspicions, especially with almost an entire school year of experience sneaking around the castle, but they still preferred to be cautious, to hide from both dark wizards and close-minded muggles.

Neville still lived with his grandmother, but she had become less strict during the course of his first week back at home from school and didn’t really bother him with the amount of time he stayed out, as long as he spent the nights at home. Besides, in her own words, they all had ‘bigger problems than teenagers breaking curfew a little bit to meet with their friends.’ Blaise couldn’t believe that he could ever agree with Augusta Longbottom, but he had seen stranger things happen.

Still, when Neville told him, he had been so shocked he had choked on his drink, causing the Gryffindor to laugh at the spectacle he had created with his Cola.

Blaise himself had been invited to spend his vacation at either Malfoy Manor and the Nott’s, both families offering their hospitality and implicit protection, but he had declined immediately under the ruse of a simple: ‘I live with you the whole year, I need my space and I need to breathe proper air that isn’t tainted with your disgusting deodorant.’ While the sentiment itself was true, he did not want to risk being found out with Neville, a known ‘blood traitor’. Not to mention the part of him being a guy. And a Gryffindor.

Blaise wasn’t really certain about which part would get him into more trouble and wasn’t willing to find out anytime soon.

Therefore, he had chosen to stay at his father’s old bachelor apartment in London, while his mother moved back to France, not wanting to be anywhere near the War that was brewing.

He had asked Neville to stay with him as soon as he was done cleaning the place, making it welcoming and a cosy retreat for them, but his adorable boyfriend couldn’t leave his despotic grandmother alone the entire time, especially not now that the waters were rough.

Always the selfless Gryffindor.

They had retorted then in meeting for random dates almost daily, which had been heavenly. Neville would show up at his apartment with Floo Powder, since he hadn’t taken his Apparition Examination yet, and then they’d just walk around muggle London, as if they had no care in the world. They still kept their guards up, checking every corner for danger that could be avoided, but they tried to ignore the Damocles Sword that hung above their necks.

Which had led them to the muggle theatre on more than one occasion. It had been a perfect idea: in the darkened room nobody questioned why they were holding hands or sharing the popcorn; and they wouldn’t risk anyone from the Wizarding World discovering them, those who would cause them troubles too high on their brooms to even look down at something as mundane as a muggle theatre.

They had also gone to muggle museums and parks and bookstores and restaurants, but Blaise loved the privacy the theatres offered, he loved the way Neville would get engrossed in the stories, he loved the way their hands would link together as suspense built on the screen, he loved to discuss the film afterwards and to dissect every aspect that he found interesting.

And he loved Neville, so it was all an added bonus.

There was a small theatre nearby his place that was quiet and seldom fraught and that allowed them to spend their evenings together, with the walk towards it full of the most random topic the pair could come up with and the walk back usually occupied with their thoughts and opinions about the film they had just watched. Neither of them had been too well versed in muggle culture to begin with, but it was very easy to pick up, especially with the way the family-owned theatre would sometimes project well-known and older productions, instead of only showing the recent ones.

It made the muggle spectacle even more fascinating, in Blaise’s eyes.

“It was kind of poetic, like a rite of passage and everything, but I understand what you mean,” Blaise said as they kept on walking, itching to grab Neville’s hand but holding himself back for the time being: they were still under the scrutiny of the public eye, after all. He’d have to wait until they turned two corners and were finally alone in the streets to finally place his hands on his boyfriend’s. With moderation, of course. “I feel like the story isn’t finished, especially with the way they had the doctor become an Agent. I understand that she had had her memory wiped more times than Lockhart, but she seemed fine! I don’t know, that ending left me pretty unsatisfied as well.”

His boyfriend huffed out a laugh at that and began to silently shake his head: “Lockhart got obliviated only once, by his own spell bouncing back from Ron’s broken wand. Compared to him, that doctor got her brain scrambled on the daily. But you��re right, it would have been so much better if she kept her job and was on the loop with the alien stuff.”

“Speaking of Lockhart, I wonder how’s he doing…” Blaise inquired, scratching his neck. It had been over three years since anyone had heard of the famous wizard and pretty much everyone had seemed to have forgotten about him. It was such a mystery for some, his sudden disappearance after his year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Yet again, pretty much all the students at Hogwarts knew of the curse on that position, which made his absence plausible, but to have such a well renowned and celebrated man vanish into thin air after publishing a controversial book where he told the world he had no memory of who he had ever been, it was more than suspicious.

“At St. Mungo’s, giving out autographs Godric knows what for,” Neville answered his implicit question with nonchalance, “I see him sometimes when I go visit Mum and Dad.”

During the time they had been together, Neville had slowly begun to tell Blaise about what had happened to his family: how they were members of the original Order of the Phoenix, fighting the Dark Lord during the First War; how Dumbledore had suggested they hid as well as the Potters, because of some prophecy that would connect their children with the Dark Lord himself; how, after he was defeated and the Potters were killed, his parents were tracked down by four remaining Death Eaters and tortured to insanity; how they now stayed at St. Mungo’s, without a single memory of their son, completely out of their minds.

Blaise had always been cold and calculative and preferred to keep a rational outlook to the world, but when he saw, for the first time since that new information, Bellatrix Lestrange, at Malfoy Manor, free and enjoying life, his blood had begun to boil. He had never wanted to murder someone as much as he did in that moment, forcing himself to maintain a smile on his face and to pretend like he wasn’t ready to slaughter someone. When he came back home that night after dinner with Draco and his wretched family, he had spent an entire hour in the shower, scrubbing at his skin as if he could erase the memory of that wretched woman, drinking wine and telling them all about the Cruciatus Curse and how useful it could be to a dark wizard. He had kept that piece of information hidden from Neville, even though he had recounted pretty much the entire evening the following day, while his boyfriend attempted to calm him down from his homicidal plans, without truly knowing what had instigated them.

And he would never know, for Blaise would go to any lengths to avoid his sweet and loving boyfriend any pain. He had already suffered too much, in his short life.

“Really, he’s at St. Mungo’s?” Blaise asked, trying to distract himself from those dark thoughts. When he was with Neville, it almost felt as if Death Eaters didn’t exist, as if the Dark Lord hadn’t risen again, as if they weren’t on the verge of War. “I thought the whole ‘Who Am I?’ book was all a plan to disappear after he botched our second year without being bothered and now you tell me that Weasley sent him to the healers and basically deprived the Wizarding World of that perfectly blinding smile?” Neville playfully shoved him to the side with his shoulder, lingering a little in his touch as they kept on walking, just as restless as he was to be behind closed doors and to have their privacy and safety: “Ron didn’t send him anywhere and he got what he deserved,” he commented sheepishly, regarding Blaise with a blinding smile of his own.

And Blaise definitely preferred his boyfriend’s smile, so true and sincere and warm and just perfect, rather than anything their former fraud of a professor had ever shared.

“He spent the entire year pretending he could do shit and leaving me hanging from the ceiling, multiple times, and then, at the first sign that he needed to be a responsible adult, he tried to Obliviate Harry and Ron and leave Ginny down with the Basilisk. They got so lucky that Lockhart took Ron’s wand that still hadn’t been repaired, otherwise they’d all still be down there.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added: “And don’t worry, he still got that smile,” his face reddened and visible even in the dimly lit street.

“No need being jealous of a man who isn’t even worth the mud under your shoes, Nev,” he teased, enjoying how his boyfriend would stammer embarrassed at being discovered.

“I’m not jealous!” he defended himself, but the crimson on his cheeks spoke of another story.

Blaise itched to cup his cheeks and to feel the warmth of his skin, but they were still in the middle of a street that was fairly illuminated and with people around. Therefore he did the next best thing: returned on a safer conversational path. “Oh, yeah, I remember about Weasley’s wand,” he said, laughing at the memory, “It bounced back that Slug-vomiting charm that was aimed at Draco. We had a blast that day, when he told us the story.” “Glad some of you enjoyed it, with your sick sense of humour,” Neville said, shuffling his hands inside of his pockets as they moved closer and closer to the corner that would lead them to the apartment, “poor Ron had to carry a bucket wherever he went for two days straight!”

Blaise couldn’t help himself: maybe it was the serious way he defended his friend, or maybe it was the image of a tiny second-year Weasley carrying around the entire castle a bucket to throw up slugs in, undoubtedly aided by an equally tiny Saint Potter with a bewildered tiny Grander following suit and reprimanding them both, but he just burst up laughing, his entire body shaking with it as he put his hands over his stomach, to try and regain his composure.

Yet, all thoughts of etiquette were damned as soon as he heard his boyfriend join in, his own laugh bright and pure and just perfect.

And the icing on their cake laid in the fact that they were alone, without anyone watching them, and they could just be themselves. Blaise didn’t hesitate a moment into grabbing Neville’s hand, enjoying the warmth that the Gryffindor radiated. They kept on laughing and holding hands as they walked back to the one place they could call theirs.

They all but ran the few meters that kept them vulnerable, staggering over the stairs as if they were drunk. It was a somehow good paragon, considering how inebriated they were with each other, and Blaise couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful his life was in that moment. He could just be himself, around Neville, without having to worry about composure or secrets or manners.

When they closed the door behind their backs and stumbled inside of the apartment, they didn’t even open the electrical lights up, too engrossed in making up for the time they hadn’t been allowed to share, close and up in each other’s personal space.

Blaise would’ve been content in simply existing there, in the tiny apartment that once belonged to his late father, with his hands up on his boyfriend’s hair as he worked and worried over Neville’s exposed neck, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, watching him lean against a wall for support once his legs had given up completely. The outside world didn’t matter anymore, not to him, not when he had Neville’s hands on him. He’d be glad dying there, in his arms, unbothered by the imminent war, by his friends, by their duties.

But reality had to crash down on them at some point.

Neville removed his mouth from his, panting and with his eyes shut, savouring for one more moment their closeness. Blaise studied his face from the short distance, as he always loved doing, recognising his boyfriend’s reluctance to separate. Yet, his duty would win, as it always did, and he would take a step back, trying to recompose himself and running a hand through his hair.

It was long due a haircut, by now, but Blaise was an egoist and wanted the length to stay for a little longer. Besides, when September came, his grandmother would definitely cut it, even against Neville’s will. And Blaise would take whatever he could, when it came to going against Augusta Longbottom.

He hadn’t even met the woman yet and he had already accepted defeat, if it meant keeping Neville in his life. And, while he did not harbour any love for the witch, he was most certain he could keep an amicable front with her, at least, all for Neville’s sake.

That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t try to stray her grandson into a different path than the one she wanted, at every corner: “Can’t you stay this once?” he asked in a low and sultry voice, fully conscious of what that tone did to his perfect Gryffindor boyfriend, refusing to take a step back and let a single centimetre separate the two of them.

He watched as Neville slowly opened his eyes in the dim light that was filtered by the window from the empty street below. He watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to regain his breathing. He watched, powerless, as Neville slipped them over, switching their positions, effectively trapping him against the wall in his arms.

The Gryffindor bent down a little and placed the most chaste and sweet and anticlimactic kiss on Blaise’s lips, driving the Slytherin mad with want and desire, unable to do anything other than comply.

“You know I can’t, flower,” he murmured directly against Blaise’s lips, his own stretching in a wicked smile. Neville Longbottom knew exactly which buttons to press and when to use them all against him: Blaise couldn’t help the shiver that ran over his back at that simple word, still not used to the way the simple pet name made his toes curl and his heart beat out of his chest, nor could he help the sound of appreciation that came out of his throat, and that transformed immediately into one of disappointment as soon as his boyfriend untangled himself from him.

He tried to make some air reach his brain, when Neville stepped back from him once again, leaving him space to breathe and recollect himself while still being infuriatingly close, neither of them wanting to truly part despite their obligations.

“Yes, I unfortunately do…” he answered, still leaning against the wall. He ran his right thumb over his lips, enjoying the way the Gryffindor’s body stiffened at the sight as his eyes tracked the movement. He sometimes still couldn’t believe his luck, especially when Neville looked at him like that, as if he needed all of his strength just to hold back.

Most of the time, Blaise wished he didn’t, yet the knowledge that he was the one to make the apparently timid, placid Schlongbottom, as his friends still believed he was, lose his mind completely was intoxicating. And he lived for those moments and hours when Neville would let go of his composure fully, causing Blaise to follow suit without a single complaint. Because he couldn’t be the farthest from timid or placid, but only he saw that side of him, only he got to enjoy that part of his sweet and amazing boyfriend.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Blaise asked almost out of the blue, conscious already of the reply, but wanting to steal some more time alone with the Gryffindor.

He didn’t particularly care that he was abiding by the stereotype that Slytherins were manipulating and tempting, not when Neville would shoot him a blinding but cocky smile as he fired back: “Already missing me?”

“Always.”

“I told you, I’m going to help Luna find a dress for the wedding and Grandma’s organised that family gathering to celebrate my 17th…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, to try to make his blushing less noticeable. Unfortunately for him, in doing so, he had involuntarily made his shirt rise a little, showing off the skin beneath, and Blaise was not going to let such an opportunity pass: he moved closer and snug his arms around his boyfriend’s midriff, planting his hands in the small of his back. “Remind me again why I can’t crash her party and steal you away?” he asked casually, next to his ear, before he began to worry the earlobe with his teeth.

Neville seemed to be at a loss for words under Blaise’s ministrations, which was entirely his goal, but he eventually did manage to speak again: “Because she doesn’t know about us, since if she did we’ll never hear the end of it ‘cause we were keeping this a secret, and you are a Slytherin and I am a Gryffindor, and because she is not allowing me to invite any friends,” he said, his voice firm and unfaltering, despite the way his hands were holding Blaise close to him, silently begging to keep up with his work.

Not that he was planning to stop anytime soon. Still, some words at the back of his throat itched to be said: “I have a few words I’d like to tell your grandmother and none of them are kind,” Blaise claimed, staring right into Neville’s eyes and wondering how such a stern woman could raise such a loving man. While it was true that she had laid off his back for the time being, she had doubled down on her questions about Neville’s private life: the poor Gryffindor had to retort to lying simply to avoid her finding out about their relationship. It was a good thing that he had quite a vast number of friends and that said friends didn’t interact with his grandmother, because, based on Blaise’s very own experience with pureblood families, everyone knew everything, especially when ‘keeping the lines pure’ was involved and everyone turned out to be related.

For instance, Neville’s white lie for that day’s activity was very simple: “I’m going to play Quidditch with my roommates and we’ll have dinner afterwards.”

When Neville had told him as much, Blaise had exploded into laughter and disbelief. Was it believable for his boyfriend to play Quidditch? Absolutely not, but he shared a dormitory with Weasley, Thomas and Saint Potter, therefore he played by proxy. It would have equally been absurd for his grandmother to and not to believe him, which was what made the lie incredibly clever.

Blaise shook his head as he silently snickered at the fresh memory, still hesitant to remove his hands from his boyfriend’s body: “Anyway, who’s getting married now that we’re almost on the brink of war?” he inquired, truly curious. A wedding in the Wizarding World was a very public event, especially when pureblood families were involved, which they must have been, if Lovegood was invited.

All of his friends still kept on calling her Loony, but he had stopped using that epithet, since he had begun to consider her a friend as well, thanks to their mutual connection to Neville. And she was an excellent friend, both to him and his boyfriend, kind and compassionate and considerate.

He had already begun to wonder about who the couple must have been, considering no one in his circles had mentioned anything, when Neville spoke, making him understand exactly why nobody amongst the purebloods he spent his time around had even known or cared about such a thing: “Bill Weasley, Ron’s eldest brother, and Fleur Delacour.”

“The Triwizard Champion? How did they even meet?” he inquired, now even more curious. He had seen the eldest Weasley only once, at Gringotts, and it was in that moment that he first began to question whether or not he was straight. And, to pair that with Beauxbatons’ champion, well… That must have been a hell of a good looking couple!

“I don’t know,” Neville said, leaning his head against Blaise’s shoulder and looking at him with a soft smile through his eyelashes, “but they’re super cute together, at least that’s what Ginny told me.” “And you haven’t been invited?” His boyfriend shrugged at that, Blaise knew he did not particularly care about mundane events and being into the public eye: “No, from what Ginny told me it’s not going to be that big of a ceremony. Only family, close friends of the couple, and neighbours. Which is why Luna’s going, as well as to spend time with Ginny.”

“That’s a shame you won’t be there,” he commented, running for the umpteenth time that eventing his hands through Neville’s hair, as the other wizard stayed there, merely enjoying his ministration while he tried not to fall asleep. It had happened already once, right before he had to leave, and that incident had prompted his grandmother into a speech about the right of an adolescent Gryffindor to a little bit of rule-breaking. “I bet you would’ve looked dashing in a suit.”

“Jealous, darling? You know you could always look at me in a suit, if you’d just let me borrow one…” “Not a chance, caro. Mine are all tailored to perfection for my body,” he said playfully, moving his head to the side to place a small kiss on Neville’s nose, causing the other wizard to blush and giggle, “Besides, I prefer seeing you without a single stitch.” “Blaise! You can’t just say shit like that!” his boyfriend spluttered, trying to get away from his words as if they had just tickled him. He loved the way Neville would get all cute and embarrassed. His usual tell was the blush that started on his cheeks and spread throughout his body, and that was incredibly adorable. Blaise had tried to see just how farther the colour could spread, but he had been distracted in his path, somehow. “Why not? No one is listening and it’s true!” he had begun to retort, only to be shut up quickly as two lips pressed against his own, soft yet insistent, gentle yet commanding. One thing had to be said about Neville Longbottom and that was how efficient he was at quieting him with a single gesture, whether with a kiss or by simply occupying his mind with the little things he always did, essentially being himself, unfiltered.

It took them less time than usual to resurface for once, mainly because Blaise still wanted to know more about the hot new wizarding couple that could definitely take over the world, if the Dark Lord wouldn’t win.

He desperately prayed he wouldn’t, for countless different reasons.

“When is this marvellous event?” he asked, still refusing to put a single millimetre of space in between them.

“In three days, on the first. Luna’s absolutely on her last chance, looking for the perfect dress that won’t attire Wrackspurts,” he commented, shaking his head. Something inside of Blaise told him that it wasn’t the first nor the second time they went out shopping and, if Lovegood was anything like Pansy, it must have not been an easy task chaperoning. Pansy Parkinson could try on an entire street of boutiques, buy every single item of her size, and still lament she had nothing to wear.

“Why? Wanna meet up? I thought we were going for lunch on the second,” Neville added, pulling him out of the horror of the memory of the first time that witch had discovered French Haute Couture: a tornado would’ve left behind less damage.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited to Draco’s for dinner on the first, with all the others…” he trailed off, remembering exactly what had been discussed the previous night amongst the Death Eaters. It wasn’t unusual for Draco and Theo to invite him over, especially since they both believed he was fully on the Dark Lord’s side but was merely acting precious, never truly giving in. And he couldn’t deny an invitation, otherwise it would have looked suspicious. After all, his friends knew that he was staying all alone in London, away from his family, and that he wasn’t fooling around with anyone, which, in their eyes, meant he had a lot of free time.

Free time that they tried to occupy, not wanting to leave him completely alone. Thankfully, they weren’t overbearing, having him over every couple of days or so, respecting his privacy, but whenever an invitation came, he had to follow through.

Now, he couldn’t exactly tell his friends: “No, I’ll pass on spending time with you, I’m going to go watch muggle entertainment with my Gryffindor boyfriend,” could he?

Luckily for his relationship, though, the invites were rather old fashioned, called days prior, and that left him and Neville plenty of time to organize. The only person in their friend group that liked to show up uninvited or unannounced by an owl was Pansy, but she would’ve stayed in Spain until the mid of August, which meant Blaise could breathe a little without having to worry about her finding out his secret. Draco and Theo were way too busy in their official Death Eater work to even want to hang out with him in the mornings and afternoons anyway.

“What is it, B?” Neville asked, undoubtedly feeling the way his shoulders had tensed from up close. His hold on Blaise became slightly tighter, grounding and real, while still remaining gentle, letting him know that they were alright and, no matter what happened, they’d be okay.

Closing his eyes and leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder, he began to recount what he had eavesdropped: “When I was at Theo’s last night, his father and his uncle were talking about something that went bad for them the day before, so on the 27th, and how the Dark Lord was more than displeased. All I got were hushed words about a failed kidnapping, I believe, and how the Dark Lord had completely exploded against his followers in anger, even though he had no idea who to even blame and punish. But then his father moved onto a different topic and said that they’d have their victory in a couple of days anyway, that they needed to wait, that they couldn’t lose, that August would be their month of victory. But he didn’t explain what exactly he had meant, without a doubt to keep us ‘children’ in the dark. I couldn’t really understand much, Crabbe had gone off about some bullshit of his and they were speaking in a low voice on the opposite side of the table, but the intent was clear. Something big is about to happen.” “Blaise…”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but they don’t fully trust anyone who doesn’t have the Mark. Besides, they consider us children, even Draco doesn’t know much and he let the bloody Death Eaters into Hogwarts! They know he’s loyal, or at least think so, ‘cause he was at some meetings with the Dark Lord himself. Yet they still don’t tell us shit. Not even to Theo, who’s more of a fanatic than a follower. And I am not going to taint my arm with that disgusting thing anytime soon, even if that would help. But it’s so frustrating and…” he continued, still refusing to open his eyes: he knew he should’ve told that story to Neville earlier, but he had got distracted by their date; he knew he should’ve contacted Professor McGonagall, warning her about what was going on and whose side he was on, but he was terrified he’d be intercepted somehow; he knew he was a terrible spy and that his motive was entirely egotistical, fuelled only by his will to keep Neville safe, and he couldn’t do anything about any of that.

War was coming and Blaise Zabini was powerless against it, unable to do anything concrete.

It wasn’t until he felt warm lips on his forehead and felt warm hands on either side of his face, gently holding him together, that he stopped his rambling. He usually wasn’t like this, letting his mind wander and his mouth running to catch up, at least not in front of other people, because it could potentially be dangerous and could bring unwanted questions. “Rule number eighteen: do not blabber, unless you intend to become a thespian and need practice for monologues,” his mother always said and he preferred to maintain a decent amount of control over the words that came out of him, never going into a rampage, unlike Draco did whenever he messed up his hair, yet never appearing bothered by the simple act of speaking, unlike Theo, who favoured monosyllabic replies to everything. His was always a perfect balance, studied to the last detail to make his speeches and his sentences reach the point and the mind of those who lent him their ears.

Rule number nineteen was: “do not fall in love with a thespian unless they’re a muggle actor from Hollywood,” yet Blaise knew he wouldn’t use that rule. Not anymore and hopefully not ever.

Still, of course, as it had become a routine in his life, everything about him became erratic and unpredictable when he was with Neville. He had found himself digress many times and he was always quite shocked when he realised how far he had gone from his initial path, much to his boyfriend’s delight and amusement. “I like seeing you ruffled,” he had admitted once, earning a copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ chucked at his head as they both laughed, with Blaise trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Blaise, my love, calm down,” Neville whispered softly against his forehead, hugging him closer and managing to reassure him without wearing him down with his own emotions, “I’m sure everything will be fine. The Order probably knows already that something’s about to happen. Besides, McGonagall’s in there as well, she’s not going to let anything happen, bad or not. Everything will be alright and I’ll come here on the second just like we planned to. You gotta trust me.”

He took a deep, steadying breath as he tried to ground himself back again. Neville’s presence helped greatly, as he had already told the other wizard countless times. “I trust you, more than anyone else,” he admitted, staring straight into his brown eyes as if they could hold all of the Universe’s answers, “But promise you won’t jump headfirst if something happens.” “Of course, I’ll stay home with Grandma as much as I can, when I don’t have my powerful Slytherin around to protect me. Besides, I’m pretty sure You Know Who will stay out of her path, she’s almost as scary as McGonagall!” Neville joked, causing Blaise to shake his head: Gryffindor antics were hard to knock off, it seemed. And, even if he was already wildly intimidated by Augusta Longbottom and she might make the Dark Lord reconsider his career path with her umbrella and her hats, theirs was not a topic to take lightly. “Neville, I’m serious.” “I know.”

Blaise scoffed at that and removed himself from their embrace, allowing space in between their bodies to better convey his message: “I know I can’t make you promise me you’ll stay put, ‘cause you won’t. But can you swear to me that you won’t risk your life recklessly?” he asked, unbothered if some of his desperation seeped into his voice. He knew he could let his walls down around his boyfriend, after all. “You mean like a Gryffindor,” came immediately the reply as Neville crossed his arms over his chest, now that he had the space to do so. “Nev…” “Only if you swear on Slytherin himself that as soon as shit starts to go down, you’ll get to safety,” he intercepted him, stopping Blaise before he could go on another tangent about House Values, “I need to know you’ll be careful.” Blaise nodded at that, he could understand the sentiment: of course his boyfriend would want him safe. But times were darkening by the hour and soon neither of them would probably know what safety even meant.

“Let’s make a deal:” he suggested, already knowing that Neville would agree to his plans, even if they were half-assed ideas about sneaking inside of a muggle library just to study and recreate the ambience of Hogwarts’ own, “usually I’m back from Draco’s around midnight. If nothing happens, we’ll just see each other in the morning after, as we planned. But if the world ends, meet me here at midnight. Sneak past your grandmother or stun her, since you won’t have to worry about the Trace by then. But just, come here, please.”

“The world’s not going to end, my love. Not on my watch,” Neville said, holding once again both of his hands in his and placing a soft kiss on his thumbs.

With the Gryffindor, it was all about the soft and subtle touches, the small moments. Blaise had dived into their relationship wanting to keep it hidden to avoid uproar by the entire school, yet he had been surprised when Neville hadn’t complained about their subtlety; he had almost expected the dorky plant-head to be the most PDA-indulging being in their entire school and it had been unexpected, yet not unwelcomed, his quiet way of giving affection, even when they were all alone and safe.

“Thank you, my mighty Gryffindor,” he replied with a flourish, pondering the pros and cons of bowing. On one hand, he’d keep up his theatrics that seemed to amuse Neville to no end, but on the other, he’d have to let go of his boyfriend’s hands, which was something he wasn’t willing to do. Neville, as always, resolved his qualm without a second thought: he playfully shoved Blaise away with a push from his hands, before pulling him back closer and making him crash against his torso. “Besides, it’s not like we’re not going to see each other before then! What did you say we would do again…?” Blaise saw right through his feeble attempt at distraction immediately: “Nope, I’m not going to tell you, it’s a surprise!” he exclaimed, placing a placating kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. He had already planned the entirety of their date since he found out the plant-head wouldn’t be free on his birthday: they’d start the day by having lunch at a Chinese restaurant Neville had particularly enjoyed and then they’d move to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, allowing for them to spend the entire afternoon and evening there, since he already knew very well that his boyfriend would get distracted with every single leaf. And Blaise loved when Neville got side-tracked to talk about plants, even if he didn’t care about the ‘green things’ himself, so it would be a win-win. “Please, B, you know I don’t really like surprises!” he lamented, but Blaise was adamant on his position. “Mio caro, you’ll have to suffer then.” “You’re so mean to me.” Blaise kissed the tip of his nose once more, giggling at the way it involuntarily twitched under his lips: “Yeah, but you love me nevertheless.” What followed was a bad series of sloppy kisses and giggles shared between them as they walked in tandem next to the fireplace, miraculously avoiding tripping over furniture. They knew it was time for Neville to leave, but they were both incredibly reluctant to let go.

“Goodnight, then,” Blaise said, attempting without any real intent to put some space in between them, and he was almost immediately followed by Neville’s own: “Goodnight,” spoken directly against his lips as he removed his hands from around the Gryffindor’s torso, giving a little push to create some distance in between them. “I love you,” Neville sing-sang as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, waiting for Blaise’s reply before disappearing into the Network. “I love you too, but go before your grandmother decides to murder me for keeping her grandson away from home all the time!”

And with that, Neville Longbottom had gone back home, leaving Blaise alone in the quiet apartment, his laugh still ringing clearly in his ears against the deafening silence. The place always seemed to lose its warmth as soon as his boyfriend left and so he shrugged on a jumper he had ‘borrowed’ from the Gryffindor, without his knowledge and without any real intent on giving it back.

He was not as naïve as Neville was sometimes, still believing that everything would be alright in spite of all the signs pointing to Hell, but he knew that they would be together even if the world did fall off its axis, and that thought warmed him more than any fire could.

And with that, plus the jumper, he tried to fall asleep, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the uncertainty of his future.

But, of one thing only he was certain: he’d stay by Neville’s side and he’d stay at his, no matter what.

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in3ptbean · 4 years ago

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Hello! If you're doing requests, consider 61. “It’s past midnight! Where the hell were you?” and 87. “Is that a blood stain?!” for the lost boys. I'll leave which boy(s) up to you 😊.

OF COURSE CHIEF! I got you, my dude...

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕 61 & 87 - 𝑷𝒂𝒖𝒍

61. “It’s past midnight! Where the hell were you?”

87. “Is that a bloodstain?”

Summary: OOOK bois. This one gets a bit wild in the sense that ‘you’ are an adrenaline junkie and one of the rare humans that the boys decided to keep alive after meeting you on the boardwalk. Failing to meet them that one night, a certain blonde glam rocker gets concerned with your safety.

Warnings: A bit of blood, near-death experience if that sets you off

If you want to request, go ahead and click the prompt link for guidelines and ideas! You should also check out my other works! Don’t be afraid to request!

Prompt List

Masterlist

(Not My GIF)

It was barely 11:53 pm when your group of friends decided to hang off of one of the many bridges in Santa Carla. You were high off of bud and literally buzzing with energy.

You laughed with Hannah as she clamped her hands down on the many bars underneath the old rickety planks of the bridge. She slid off, screaming as the adrenaline high hit her; swinging carelessly in the air.

“We should go to the other bridge-” You cut off Augusta’s attempts to sway your actions, butt hitting the bridge as you scooted yourself over the edge.

“Don’t freak out on us now, Auggie!” She frowned at your sudden interruption, clenching her jaw. “The night is still young,” She merely rolled her eyes at your antics before you joined Hannah on the pipes below. The brunette walked off, leaving you and Hannah on the bridge before disappearing into the mist of the forest nearby.

“Is she going home?” Hannah asked, kicking your leg with a grin on her face. Hannah was practically an imp; mischievous and full of energy. You nodded, responding with a swift kick to her ass before calling out for your friend in a taunting manner.

“Augusta!” Hannah giggled, letting go of one hand and wiping the sweat off on her sweater. “AUGGIE! WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Don’t tell me you actually left!” You egged on, swinging your body around, oblivious to the ache growing in your forearms.

“I’m just.... sure ... idiots don’t ... yourselves!” A faint voice from below yelled. You grinned. The adrenaline junkie in you wasn’t surprised she hadn’t left, but the ‘sober’ you was grateful she was always there to make sure you didn’t die. “Train’s... g-... off!” Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes glancing at Hannah who had stopped swinging herself.

“What?!” Hannah asked, clearly confused as well.

“I said ‘The Train - get - soon!” Augusta yelled back. Your hands were burning now, and the sudden spike of your thudding heart echoing in your ears was not helping at all. “HURRY UP!”

You nearly jumped when the bar started jiggling around. Hannah quickly scrambled to get up, sitting on the edge and extending her hand out towards you in a vain attempt to pull you up. You glanced east, watching at the bright, single light of the train that came bustling towards you.

“Grab my hand, (Y/n)!” Hannah yelled, the roar of the train making it near impossible to hear her. You strained your arms, hoping to latch onto one of the planks or correct your grip, but alas, this was no perfect world.

The moment you slipped, a scream left your lips. Your heart never beat so fast, you felt as if it were trying to explode. Your body felt weightless, like a leaf flowing through the air on a windy day. You couldn’t help but close your eyes once the adrenaline left your body, oblivious to the growing earth beneath you as sudden darkness enveloped you.

Hannah could only scream when she watched you disappear beneath the thick mist, hoping that Augusta would be there to catch you or at least break your fall. Scrambling to get up, the blonde pressed her back to the rails, waiting for the train to stop moving before she ran towards the other side of the bridge. She looked away from the floor momentarily, nearly screaming when she noticed the boys sitting on their bikes.

“What’s wrong, Hannah?” The platinum blonde asked tauntingly, ignoring the frantic look on her face. “You look scared?” Hannah’s arm was grabbed before being pulled towards David, but before he could make another remark, the glam rocker, Paul, glanced around before interrupting him,

“It’s past midnight, Where the hell is (Y/n) and Augusta? I thought they were here with you?” A sob escaped Hannah’s lips before she ripped her arm away from David and ran down the path leading to the bottom of the small crevasse. The boys looked at each other before getting off their bikes and walking after her.

A harsh breeze caused them to still; blood. Paul was practically running, passing The petite blonde. He screeched to a halt when he noticed your unconscious form crumpled on top of the brunette Dwayne had become infatuated with.

“What the fuck happened?” He heard David snarl at the blonde, who was now rambling on about the train and how you slipped, most likely Augusta breaking your fall as Marko helped Paul and Dwayne untangle the girls.

You were bleeding heavily from your leg and arm, where bruises and fresh gashes marked you up, but as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. Augusta on the other hand, was still conscious, nearly screaming as Dwayne laid her down on the ground, her bloody hand grasping your own as she cried for you to wake up.

You merely laid limply on the ground, head resting on Paul’s lap as he cradled your injured form.

From the looks of it, Augusta got the worst of it, having broken her arm and cutting open the side of her head.

David was berating the blonde, nearly exposing himself just before Dwayne yelled out for him. Augusta was becoming delusional, between screaming and crying for you, and expressing her own sharp pains.

---*---*---

When you awoke, you were met with a pair of baby blue eyes staring down at you, full of worry and concern. You rubbed your eyes, confused and aching as you sat up from Paul’s lap.

“What happened?” You asked stupidly. Of course, you remembered what happened, you just need to hear it from someone else.

“You almost died,” David said before paul could even open his mouth. You ignored the platinum blonde's tone before looking around, searching for your two friends. “you won't find blondie here. She skipped town after leaving you two on the bridge,” The lie was suave, yet it was the only thing they could say without making you question her whereabouts at the moment; most likely mutilated and shoved off of Hudson's bluff.

Being in no mood to take David on at the moment, you laid your head back down on Paul’s lap, eyes drifting around before they widened to the size of dinner plates when they landed on Augusta’s sleeping form leaned against Dwayne on the other side of the room.

Paul said nothing as you shot up once more, practically running to the brunette, and ignoring Dwayne's glare.

“Is that a bloodstain?” You asked, eyes locked on the single drop of blood that had dripped from Augusta’s lips, and onto her yellow crop.

“Why don’t you sit down, (Y/n),” Paul suggested, patting the space on the sofa beside him, just as Marko waltzed in with a struggling surf Nazi.

Let's just say you no longer had to fear injury while performing your adrenaline-driven stunts anymore.

HEY! Sorry if it strayed a bit from what you asked! I’m just really in an angsty mood right now bros! Anyway, let me know what you think!

#thelostboy #thelostboys paul #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #the lost boys marko #the lost boys paul #the lost boys #x reader #reader insert #slasher #slashers imagine #slashers x reader #OneShots #Headcanon #adrenaline #junkie

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