A/N: This is written as a prequel to "Are You My Mother," but both fics can be enjoyed separately. This fic will have four chapters: two from Dean's POV and two from Blaise's POV.
When he was little, Dean Thomas wanted to be a professional football player. He didn't have a lot of time to think about his future during the war, and afterward he wanted to do something quiet. Perhaps not quiet, but something that didn't involve people lobbing jinxes at him or large amounts of paperwork. He owned a Quidditch supply store in East London, but by 2006 life had become almost too quiet.
It was rare for anyone to enter the store on Saturday morning, much less on a freezing Saturday in early February. When Dean heard the door open and close, he came out from the workshop to see the most beautiful man on the planet had walked into the store. The visitor wore a slate grey trench coat over dark jeans and a lilac sweater. He could hardly look more out of place in a sporting store, but he would stand out anywhere with the way he held himself.
The man scanned the walls of the store like he was looking for something specific, and Dean felt his feet move but didn't quite remember telling them to do so. Lucy was the only staffer in, and she greeted him with the standard protocol.
"Good morning, sir! Welcome to Ignisphera where we sell the finest quality Quidditch supplies in—"
"Lucy! I see we have a customer," Dean shouted, his pace a bit quicker than could have been considered normal. Dean recognized that face, no one could forget that face, and knew they were in the same year at school. The man's name was on the tip of his tongue, he just couldn't quite remember it.
"Dean Thomas," he arrived and held out his hand. "I own the store."
"Blaise Zabini," the customer replied, shaking Dean's hand. He smiled and Dean could have kicked himself.
That's right, Malfoy's friend!
"Lucy, I'll take care of Zabini here," Dean said, still holding onto Blaise's hand. "Go assist one of the other customers."
"It's nine in the morning, he is our only customer," Lucy replied.
"Take your lunch break, then."
"It's nine in the morning!" Lucy repeated.
"Then take a breakfast break!" Dean insisted. He ran his thumb over Blaise's knuckles before dropping their handshake and, if the smirk on Zabini's face was any indication, Dean knew his face had started to pink. "It really is the most important meal of the day."
Lucy looked between the two of them, patted Dean on the shoulder and said, "Good luck, boss."
Dean cringed as she meandered toward the cashier counter. He awkwardly crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled down at the floor before schooling his face into a more professional expression.
Merlin's beard, even his shoes are pretty.
"Is there something I can help you find?" Dean asked, his voice cracking on the final word.
Blaise Zabini looked at him with amusement. He didn't say anything for a few moments, so Dean took the opportunity to really look at him. He had amber eyes and a dimple on the underside of his bottom lip, looking like some kind of Siren. Something about him felt like autumn; nothing warm and nothing cold, just something peaceful.
"Gloves," Blaise finally said. "The Seeker for the Quafflepunchers is a good client and—"
"You need gloves for Lucien Benoit?!" Dean exclaimed. "You should have started with that! I made his practice broom, you know. Follow me."
As Dean led him toward the rack of gloves at the back of the shop Blaise asked, "You made a broom for him?"
"Well someone had to."
"Impressive," Blaise observed.
"Oh! You, um, you think so? Thanks—Oh, no!" Dean tripped over a rack of broomsticks. Blaise laughed and asked,
"Are you this flustered by all your customers, or am I special?"
Holy shit, is he flirting with me? Or is he making fun of me? I can't tell, so maybe both?
"I'm flustered by everyone who comes in here at nine o'clock in the morning," Dean answered.
"Happen often, does it?"
"Just you," Dean admitted.
"Good," Blaise replied, and Dean felt his face go red. He was definitely blushing and his heart raced faster than any broom he ever made could hope to. By the time they approached the apparel section of the shop, Dean had nearly lost his grip on the English language. Individual glove samples were laid out in a series of drawers with transparent glass tops.
Right, good, keep it professional. I can do this.
"I do not know much about Quidditch, so I defer to your expertise," Blaise said.
"I know what you need," Dean replied low in his throat. Blaise raised an eyebrow at the double entendre and shifted a bit closer to him. Dean shivered, shook his head, and counted to five.
Keep it together, Dean, keep it together. He's just flirting, just playing you, at least make the sale. Keep it professional. I can do this.
"This top row here, these are batting gloves made with cabretta leather on the palms which we primarily suggest for Beaters because it's the toughest moldable leather. It assists with the grip on both the bat and the broom handle. We pre-curve the fingers for a more natural fit and I can make them in any design, any colour for any team."
He closed that drawer and pulled out the second.
"Now, these I am particularly proud of. My newest design, I've only had Chasers try it out, but anyone could benefit from them. The palm is actually goatskin which isn't as tough but it's more breathable. Good for Chasers since they're sweating, going about at such high speeds. It has four-way stretch in the fabric, so it moves with the hand but it also has a cooling function which comes in handy during long matches."
Blaise hummed his approval, so Dean closed that drawer and pulled out the third.
"Now these are what I believe you are looking for. Everything about the Seeker comes down to two things: speed and fingers."
"Speed and fingers, you say?" Blaise whispered. Dean found himself pausing to think of unpleasant things (Blast-ended Skrewts, Professor Snape, etc.) because that voice was a problem that went straight to his nether region. Dean eventually continued,
"If both Seekers in a match are diving for a Snitch, it all comes down to whose fingers have the most room, the best reach. These gloves are made of cabretta leather, but in two parts: one extending from the tip of the thumb all the way down the hand to allow for movement and dexterity. Fingerless, obviously, because Snitches have flesh memories and you don't want fabric to be the reason the Snitch is able to sneak away. Again, I can make it in any colour with any logo, name, anything …"
He trailed off because Blaise was looking at him with that amused expression again. Dean did not like the feeling of being on the wrong end of a joke so he asked, "What?!" rather petulantly.
"I own Twilfitt and Tattings," Blaise answered. "Fabric is my business and it has been awhile since anyone has taught me something about it." He shrugged, "I am impressed. You make these?"
"Well, yes. Quality Quidditch Supplies was the only store in England and they aren't good enough to compete internationally. Victor Krum would never buy from them, neither would any star Seeker or Beater for that matter. I taught myself to make broomsticks, to make gloves, and I contract out the production of Snitches and the like. Someone had to level up on that mediocrity."
"And that someone was you?" Blaise asked, curious. He tapped his fingers on the drawer and Dean recalled how nicely they fit in his hand earlier.
"All my friends went into the Ministry after school or started families, but that never really worked for me. I spent so much time on the run for my life, it felt like maybe I deserved to do what I wanted. This is it. This is something I can do and still be around to help my family. I certainly wasn't going to be an Auror or do whatever the hell Hermione's up to at St. Mungo's."
"And your heart said Quidditch?" Blaise asked. "Interesting."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
Dean believed him. Blaise was looking at him openly; he wasn't making fun, he was serious.
"Well now I'm looking at expanding into custom robes, making them more aerodynamic and the like."
"I could help you with that, if you like," Blaise cut him off. "After all, I own a clothing shop."
"Are you serious?" Dean asked. Blaise nodded and he shouted, "Yes! That would be amazing! How the hell could I possibly repay you?"
"Dinner," Blaise answered.
What?
Apparently Dean stood there staring at Blaise for a few moments too long because Blaise repeated,
"Dinner, with me."
"A business dinner?"
"No," Blaise shook his head and smiled. "Not a business dinner."
"Oh," was all Dean could think to reply. Blaise got a strange look on his face, like he wasn't used to waiting so long for an answer.
"Are you asking me on a date?" Dean clarified.
"I was, yes, but I was trying to be delicate about it," Blaise answered. "I like you and I will take three pairs of those Seeker gloves. As for the colour, the Quafflepuncher robes are that rather garish shade of pink, so something to match it will be appropriate. I trust your expertise on the rest."
"Three pairs?!" Dean asked. "You know that's thirty Galleons."
"Anything to remain in Lucien's good graces. He and his friends account for a quarter of my business and I heard you are the best."
"You heard right," Dean said, confident.
"Excellent!" Blaise smiled.
Oh, God, that smile is going to be the death of me. Just keep smiling at me like that until I melt into a fucking puddle on the floor.
"Dinner on Tuesday is good, yeah? I will owl you the address. I have to be on my way, business to attend to, but I look forward to seeing you again."
Dean believed him, but something about Tuesday set off alarm bells in his head.
Oh, shit.
"Zabini! Zabini!" Dean shouted. "Blaise!"
Blaise turned around just as he reached the door.
"Yes?"
"Tuesday is Valentine's Day!"
"I know," Blaise smiled and Disapparated once he left the shop.
Lucy arrived at his side and patted him on the back.
"Well done, boss. I must admit, I didn't think you could pull it off, but you have a date with one of the richest men in Wizarding Britain."
"Richest?" Dean asked. "He owns one clothing store in Diagon Alley."
"And a restaurant here in London and one in Modena and he's running the Malfoy estate. Honestly, Dean, don't you read the papers?"
"No," he admitted.
"Well, my advice? Low expectations. Zabini hasn't been in a relationship since … Well, ever, if Witch Weekly and Gentlemen's Quarterly are to be believed."
.oOo.
The Potter house in Godric's Hollow was a maze of toys and small children, so Dean felt right at home. James was playing with some blocks so Dean scooped him up and said,
"Hey, Jay! Where's your mum?"
"Here!" Ginny said from behind him. Dean whirled around and James giggled, suddenly a little dizzy. He would look exactly like his father when he got older, Dean knew. Though he had a soft heart for Al, who was very shy.
"Ginny!" Dean greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and, as he'd always done with her, dove in headfirst. "I have a date and I'm not sure what to do about it."
"Well, most people would go on the date," she replied. Ginny grabbed a bottle of water and sat on one of the chairs in the living area. It appeared she'd just returned from training, getting in shape for her final season with the Holyhead Harpies. She looked well. Quidditch and family … Dean envied her just a bit, but she and Potter deserved this life. They earned it.
"Yeah, well, he showed up in the shop and I fell all over myself trying to impress him. Then he asked me out."
"You've never had trouble dating men before," Ginny said, confused. "What's the problem with this one?"
"I think I might really like him. Not the my-family-doesn't-need-to-know sort of like him, Ginny. I could see myself with this one. He's gorgeous, but he was so sure of himself. Everyone else I've ever dated has been so clandestine about it, or awkward or nervous. There was something about him that was just comfortable. So I have a Valentine's date with Blaise Zabini and I'm freaking out."
Ginny held up a hand to silence him.
"Blaise Zabini?! Dean, you should have led with that!" She had a stern look on her face and Dean bounced Jay up and down, more to soothe himself than it was for Jay. Ginny sighed and looked at Dean with eyes full of pity.
"Blaise is a decent person, a decent friend to Harry even, but he is not a decent boyfriend."
"Oh," was all Dean could think to say. His heart fell to his stomach and he could feel his hope evaporating.
"I dunno if he's ever had a real boyfriend," Ginny continued "Since we've known him, all the men he calls 'boyfriends' are gone within the week. Harry might know better than me, but I think he and Malfoy were together once."
Dean scrunched his nose in disgust.
"He was with Malfoy?! What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
Jay's eyes widened and he covered his mouth in shock.
"You said a bad word!"
Ginny laughed and took him from Dean's arms so he could return to his blocks. She sighed and said,
"Dean, you are one of my best friends and I love you. I know how attractive Blaise is, but he's the sort of man who tends to run from commitment. I heard most of this through Harry, but you know about his mum, yeah?"
"Married eight times, all husbands dead under suspicious circumstances. I assume his life wasn't exactly pleasant outside Hogwarts."
"Exactly! Blaise doesn't know a lot about love. I think he needs a person like you to show him what it means, but he'd push you away before you get far enough to matter."
"So I should cancel?" Dean asked, disappointed.
"No!" Ginny replied. "Do what you want to do. I've never met a person who doesn't like you, Dean, so I know Blaise wants you. I also know you're going to like him. He's … magnetic. I just worry that you will be heartbroken if this doesn't end how you want it to."
Dean nervously tapped the toe of his trainer against the floor. He took a deep breath and said,
"Ginny, I have always trusted your judgement and you've never been wrong. You know Blaise and you know me, like you said, so I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you think he could make me happy?"
Ginny looked at him for awhile, shot a glance at Jay, and nodded.
"Yeah, I think he could."