"Which one?"
He began to point at his options: Acromantula silk dress robes in a slate grey.
Tracey's comment was almost instantaneous. "Fancy, if not predictable – it'll look nice, but I know you, Blaise. You like clothes that are more close-fitting than dress robes."
Blaise didn't bother denying that and removed it and the other two sets of dress robes with a muttered Pack spell and pointed to the next outfit: white trousers, black button up, and a fitted, ventless, double-breasted tan blazer, a risky choice with the cut being far from British Wizarding fare. Pockets were pretty much a given in Wizarding attire, so jetted pockets along with the lack of vents for those who knew anything about fashion, which British wizards didn't in Blaise's mind, would signal that this style was both Muggle and Italian. Still, Blaise had long accepted that his fellow Slytherins would see his fashion tastes as "Continental barbarism". Looking at the pretty brunette sat on his bed, he was thankful that at least Tracey had had a balanced upbringing and could appreciate other aesthetics.
"Yes, but with a jumper underneath, not a shirt. It's May Day, not a wedding. The nice woollen one you were wearing during your little slip with Potter would be perfect."
Blaise hummed, almost agreeing with Tracey. Flicking his wand at the jumper in question, he nodded to himself at its now warm cream colour and sat down to put on his socks. Tracey contented herself with inspecting the rest of the clothes Blaise had laid on the bed.
"Definitely the one we picked," she muttered to herself.
Halfway through his first sock, Blaise jolted to attention at the sound of someone clearing their throat at the doorway.
"What are you doing up here?" Theo asked, large front teeth worrying at his upper lip. He turned to Blaise, and the beginnings of a blush appeared at the sight of Blaise's near nakedness. "And why are you half-naked?"
Electing to give his dormmate a withering gaze, Blaise continued pulling up his socks. It should have been obvious to Theo that he was getting dressed.
"Don't be rude, Nott. I'm just about to consummate my relationship with Blaise here," Tracey said, none of her devil-may-care humour present despite her words. "and I don't appreciate voyeurs."
Blaise was certain that the only thing stopping Theo from going for his wand was the stack of books in his hands.
"Listen, you – " Theo began in warning.
Blaise moved from his bent over position, aware of the dungeon chill on his nipples. "Be careful with what you say or do next, Theo," he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Theo stared at him, looking with visible determination above his waist. Blaise stared back, removing his arms and putting his erecting nipples into view. Tracey cackled as the weedy brunette half-ran back down the stairs.
"You actually used your body as a weapon," Tracey said between violent giggles. "You said he was a prude, but I didn't think it'd be that bad."
"You'd think I was wearing a jockstrap," Blaise said with a laugh.
"He'd have fainted if you were. Boxer briefs seem to be more than enough to send him running," Tracey said, watching the entrance to the dorm in disbelief. "What a prude."
Blaise didn't think it was all prudishness. He recalled many a time Theo glancing a little longer than necessary at his body when returning from a shower, and if he wore his towel a little lower on his hips than decent, that was only for Blaise to know and Theo to rather transparently appreciate or envy. The last thing he wanted was to give Tracey more ammo to get herself cursed. Even Draco at rare times could be won over by her quick wit and irreverent humour, but Theo's prejudices ran a lot deeper than Malfoy's which was actually quite impressive now that he thought about it.
For a moment, Blaise felt deeply ashamed of the things he'd heard Draco, his idiots, and Theo say about Tracey in their dorm. Things he'd heard and ignored. It was a stealthy feeling, creeping up on him with each moment of further introspection, and he considered whether it made him a bad friend. He didn't think Tracey would care, but his thoughts wandered to Potter. The Gryffindor would no doubt think him a coward for not standing up for his friends. In this instance, Blaise was inclined to agree. If Tracey and Daphne were willing to throw their lot in with him, he should have enough courage, enough sense of decency to stand up for them in turn. It was a humbling thought.
"Well, that was amusing," Tracey murmured, rising to her feet.
Blaise turned away from the entrance to the dorm with a sigh and settled back down to pull his trousers on. "Know what you're wearing?"
"You bet," Tracey said with the type of mischievous smile on her face that never boded well.
Taking in the beautiful ornate floral designs, a cornucopia of muted cherry blossoms, camellias, and chrysanthemums against cerulean silk, Blaise sighed. Merlin, God… anyone, someone give him strength. The Common Room was quite full, and the majority of people sitting around were staring at Tracey, feeding into her rebellious tendencies.
"Do you like it?" Tracey asked, looking up through her eyelashes at him. She was daring him to say no, and Blaise was nothing if not a fool.
"A kimono," Blaise stated, eyebrows threatening to escape into his hairline.
"A kimono," Tracey confirmed with glee. "Look, Japanese silkworm silk and the obi has smoothed kappa scales woven into silk. My aunt's hosts gave it to her as a gift during her last diplomatic mission."
"Morbid," Blaise said, caught between disgust and curiosity. "Let's see."
She handed the obi to Blaise, showing him where to feel with a quick rub of her thumb. Feeling for himself the fish-scale like sensation in the seams of the otherwise beautiful black silk, he decided that it was less disconcerting than he'd expected. He didn't understand the point of it, but regardless, it looked nice.
"I wish Daphne were here to see this," Blaise said with a smile. "She'd be horrified."
Tracey's eyes bulged in response, and she began to tie the obi around her waist in an intricate knot.
"She would be more than horrified," she said with a disturbed giggle. "She'd have me under a stupefy before I could even think of walking out of the dorm, and she'd be shoving me into one of her expensive dresses."
"Thankfully, she has Tori to distract her in the Library," Blaise said.
Pansy appeared at Tracey's shoulder, taking in Blaise's getup with a confused squint.
"Lost, Pansy?" Blaise asked.
"You dress like a Muggle, Blaise," Parkinson said.
Perhaps she thought that Blaise would rise to the disgust-ridden emphasis she'd put on "muggle", but Blaise stared at her until she broke eye contact.
"An attractive muggle," Tracey added, unknowingly inviting Pansy to get to the point of her impromptu visit – criticising Tracey's outfit. Blaise frowned at her, already moving to remove the hand that had pinched at the fabric of Tracey's kimono.
"Ah, ah," Blaise said with warning. "You can look, but you can't touch."
Pansy took the hint before Blaise had to make contact to his relief.
"Tracey. What is this?" Pansy asked. The ugly sneer on her face left no illusions to her opinion on Tracey's floral ensemble.
"This is a kimono, you troglodyte," Tracey said blithely, smoothing the fabric around where she'd tied the obi.
"What did you call me?"
"A cave dweller."
"Excuse me?"
"One who dwells in dark, enclosed spaces."
"One day you'll get yours, Tracey," Pansy ground out. The only thing that betrayed her amusement was the fact she hadn't walked away or threatened to hex Tracey. Yet.
Blaise didn't understand their relationship; Pansy didn't bother to hide her malice or temper her attitude, and Tracey rolled with it. Daphne had been telling Tracey to put Pansy in her place for years, but Tracey was weird, seeming to enjoy Pansy's constant switch between hot and cold behaviour towards her.
"I long for the day," Tracey said, still a picture of serene pleasantness. "Now, I have a date with tall, dark and handsome here."
At this, Parkinson smiled viciously at him. "Finally settled for this half-blood trollop, Blaise?"
"I resent that," Tracey said. Her tone was still the same, but Blaise wasn't unaware of how much she hated people using her half-blood status against her.
Blaise was more than a little pissed at Parkinson's comment. It was usually more Daphne's job to deal with people being rude about Tracey's blood status and personality, but after that moment upstairs, Blaise was not having it anymore. Parkinson should be kissing the floor that Tracey walked on.
He stepped up to the petite girl, lip curling at the lingering pleasure in her eyes at a barb well placed. Having observed her explosive temper in action a few dozen times, he was smart enough to palm his wand before he did what he should have done months, if not years, ago. "Well, I'd be settling if she was anywhere as laughably pathetic as you." Blaise revelled in the slapped expression that overtook her previous glee, and he found the visceral rush of saying things he'd long hidden beneath stoicism and apathy far too tantalising. He continued, unabated and far too aware of the smile on his face. "Kindly fuck off and pine for Draco, and while you're at it, wipe off the look and stench of lonely bitch," he said, punctuating his disgust with a snort. "It's unseemly, particularly on a depressingly repugnant individual like yourself."
There was an echoing silence throughout the entire Common Room as he finished. Unconcerned with their audience or Pansy, he turned away from the fury that had long overtaken Pansy's gobsmacked expression, instead taking in Tracey's response. There wasn't any pleasure in her expression, but Blaise prayed that the unknown emotion in her eyes was grim satisfaction.
"Who do you think you are, you stuck up fop?!" Pansy shrieked, scrambling to get her wand out. Blaise watched her, unimpressed, and already ready to curse her. "Is it not enough that you lose your fucking mind and help Potter? I'll have - "
Tracey had her wand out, watching Pansy's continued ineffectual attempt to speak with a blank expression.
"Another time, Pansy," Tracey said with a playful wink, though the effect was more unsettling than tension-breaking. Her voice darkened. "You should be able to speak in a few seconds, so I wouldn't go for your wand. As much as I like our little talks, I won't let you try and curse Blaisey-boy or myself."
Pansy wasn't entirely stupid. She was capable of determining that two is greater than one, and she chose to walk away, but not without a loud huff and a mutter that sounded a lot like 'Italian faggot'. Blaise, aware of Pansy's penchant for commenting on his sexuality when pushed, didn't even blink, but he still half considered the idea of hexing her with her back turned. Not wanting to sink that low, at least not here, he instead took Tracey by the hand and made for the exit.
Stood outside the entrance to their Common Room, Blaise groaned. He should have tempered his rant a bit more. He wasn't stupid enough to believe this was over as Pansy had a vindictive streak a mile wide.
"Really laid it on thick there, Blaise," Tracey said with a snort.
Relieved that Tracey's moment of seriousness had ended, Blaise led them at a brisk pace to Slughorn's office. The castle was near empty at this time, and the occasional student they saw, some also dressed up for Slughorn's party, and others returning from a late class or study session, stared at them. Blaise returned their stares with every bit of disdain he could muster.
"She had it coming," he said as they began to ascend the Grand Staircase.
He wasn't afraid of stairs after his accident, but he was now obsessive about making sure no one stepped into his personal space when using them. He was spending more time watching the hem of Tracey's dress than the steps ahead. Tracey didn't comment on his habit, but her grip did tighten a little.
"Still. You should have stopped after the pathetic bit," Tracey retorted, and she frowned at him. Blaise hadn't even stopped to think that she may find how he'd reacted earlier to be out of character, fixated on the idea of her appreciating him for standing up for her. "Where did this even come from anyway? Pansy has said far worse to me, and you'd just watch."
It was a lot like swallowing poison, evoking a horrid sensation in his stomach, to hear Tracey highlight that. Like a slave to impulse and feeling like a traitor to himself with Tracey's hand in his own, he said the only thing that described his current feelings.
"You're my best friend," Blaise stated, and he elaborated, half-panicked by the vulnerability he was displaying, "and I don't have Daphne's forbidding look quite down."
Tracey didn't say anything in response for a long time, following him towards Slughorn's office, and before they went inside, she squeezed his hand before letting go. The smile on her face was bittersweet, but she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek with an affectionate pat on his cheek. Blaise stared back, heart racing with a mix of unwelcome anxiety and apprehension.
"I don't know exactly what Potter cursed you with, but it's a good start," she said slowly, staring at the wall behind him. "Part of me, a large part of me actually, resents him for getting such a change out of you so quickly, but how could I hold onto that type of feeling when you're here, being my friend for once."
She met his eyes with none of the confusion and shame that Blaise was certain was being broadcast in his own, and she smiled daringly at him. "That look in your eyes? A damn good fucking start."
Blaise rolled his eyes at her.
"Bad," she said with a slap of his forearm.
Snorting, he smiled as brilliantly as he could at her.
"Better, but are you trying to make me swoon?" She asked, hand on hip and batting her eyelashes at him.
"Trying?" He purred back at her, and he lowered his voice to a comically low rumble. "You think I need to try?"
Tracey giggled helplessly in response, and Blaise leaned further in with a victorious smirk at the faint blush along her neck. He intended to detour at the last second to kiss her on the cheek.
"Are you – are you going in?" A squeaky voice asked behind them.
Not recognising the younger student, looking at them with a violent blush, Blaise nodded his head. It hadn't been the wisest idea to look as if he were on the cusp of snogging Tracey next to Slughorn's party, especially in front of virginal eyes.
After smoothing herself down, she gave his hand a soft tug. "Shall we?"
Taking her hand back in his own, and not commenting on the blush still lingering on her neck, he led them past several other gawking students. Blaise accepted that the rumour mill would have plenty to run with tomorrow.
Squeezing past the growing crowd at the threshold of the room, they found an unoccupied table for two to the side. Slughorn's office wasn't as palatially decorated as it had been for the Christmas party, but the hand-forged crystal cutlery was present once more, shimmering against the white velvet covering the tables. Stood centre-stage, Slughorn was tinkering with a wine fountain which had been fashioned to look like a maypole. Several taps of his wand later, Slughorn lifted his glass to one of the streamers and red wine poured into it when contact was made. It was a brilliant bit of Charm work, Blaise realized.
Clearing her throat, Tracey tapped his calf with her shoe.
"So..." Tracey drawled, and her eyebrows wagged with pronounced exaggeration. "Potter."
Blaise stared at his friend, taking in her coy eyes and broad smirk with utter bewilderment and more than a little annoyance. Even though he'd only turned up to Slughorn's masturbatory party to meet Potter, he'd like to have been able to think about him and his gaggle of idiots as little as possible. Especially after the moment in the corridor – it stung to realise that he'd needed Potter's brand of foolish naivety to realise how much he'd been letting down Tracey.
"What about him?" He asked.
Not knowing it was possible, Blaise watched her eyebrows speed up their chaotic dance.
"Plan on fucking him?"
Blaise blinked at his friend, struggling to comprehend what she'd said. "What?" To his own ears, his voice sounded faint - as if he were underwater. "What did you say?"
"You. Harry Potter. Shagging," she said, enunciating each word as if he were as hard of hearing as Madam Marchbanks from their OWLs last year.
"No?" Blaise retorted before the words seemed to snap into place, making horrible, clear sense. "Hardly."
"That wasn't a very convincing no," Tracey sang.
Blaise laughed low in his throat. The idea was absurd. "Fairly sure he's straight, and I don't do suicidal Gryffindor."
"Well, you do Ravenclaws - obsessive Terry and proud Padma," she said, holding two fingers down.
Blaise sighed, lamenting that this was likely to be a long night. He hadn't even had to deal with Potter and his fools yet.
"Beauxbaton students - that neurotic redhead with the French braid, Muggle boys and girls - and do not deny that because I spent most of last summer with you in London," she said with a childish finger on her lip.
She laughed at his rolling eyes, and Blaise somehow managed to maintain his silence. Tracey had spent most of the summer in some maudlin romance with a half-blood wizard from Ilvermorny, so Blaise was a little surprised to discover she'd had time to take notice of his, to be blunt, fuck buddies.
"Now, I've saved the best for last. Hufflepuffs - we can't forget bicurious Zacharias," she half-sang.
Tracey smirked, without a doubt proud of remembering most of the people Blaise had been intimate with. Blaise was half-tempted to mention the drunken fumble he'd shared with Daphne after Slughorn's Christmas party but decided against it. They'd both sworn to never speak of it to anyone, especially Tracey.
"I think I've done a great job of forgetting him," Blaise said, "and I'd appreciate if you forget about Potter too."
"Now you're choosing to be picky? He's handsome!" Tracey paused for a moment, almost seeming unsure of her opinion of Potter's looks.
Blaise was loath to admit that Potter was pleasant on the eyes, especially without the hideous glasses. Thinking of how close they'd sat together not even twenty-four hours ago, Blaise couldn't help but recall those gem-like eyes, watching him unerringly, and it didn't take a major stretch of his imagination to picture them dilating with pleasure under Blaise's touch. The idea was more appealing that it should've been.
"A bit intense though," Tracey added sometime during his reverie. "Which is why you two are perfect for each other."
Now, Blaise was worried. "Excuse me?"
"You can be intense together," Tracey stated. "You can smoulder like always." She squinted and sucked in her jaw, looking more ridiculous than usual, and Blaise choked violently in response to her crude impersonation of his looks. "He can monologue about how the Dark Lord eats Hippogriff shit, and that's his choice, while looking heroic."
The only thing that stopped Blaise from going into hysterics was the fact that he had to maintain some sense of decorum.
"I really, really need Daphne to keep you in check," Blaise said after he managed to swallow the hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat.
"She can't keep me in check," Tracey said with a dismissive hand wave. "I'm wild and untamed."
Blaise stared at her, about to mention the many times Daphne had kept Tracey in check with carefully placed insults and well-cast jinxes but knew that that was a waste of time. Instead, he surveyed the room, taking in all the late arrivals. Seeing the beard of the groundskeeper, standing tall over Potter and his friends, he sighed in relief. Potter had deigned to grace them all with his presence, and the half-giant had given him an idea.
"I better fetch the half-giant. He may have an abomination on hand to cross breed you with," Blaise said with what he knew to be a wicked glint in his eyes.
"Blaise!" Tracey hissed.
"Now you're the one being picky," Blaise retorted with a put-upon expression. "I'm sure he has a lovely monster, lots of teeth and a horrid stench worthy of Pansy of course, with whom you can settle down and have lovely, wild and untamed monster babies."
Tracey pouted and hailed a waiter for a glass of water.
"Not my fault you've suddenly decided to be picky," Tracey said, taking a hasty sip of her water. "I mean, I was always under the impression that if you found someone attractive, you'd make a move."
"You make me sound like an incubus," Blaise said with a snort.
Tracey's eyebrows furrowed together, and she eyed him curiously. "Well, you do seem to always end up in someone's bed, you're bisexual. Is it really – "
"I don't have magical creature blood!" he snapped for the umpteenth time.
At least he didn't think he did. There'd been rumours since his second stepfather that his mother had succubus heritage, siren heritage, and all kinds of heritage, but like most rumours they were unsubstantiated. Still, there was a tiny part of him that wondered.
Tracey's hands rose in placation like they always did, but she seemed to think better of it this time. Instead, she brought out her wand and conjured a white flag with a genteel flick of her cherry-blossom embroidered wrist. She shook it slowly, a baleful expression on her face.
"Forgiven. I suppose," Blaise said.
She vanished the flag with a grand arcing motion and placed her wand back in a fold of her kimono. Blaise actually missed the comical restraint she'd shown earlier. It was something Tracey could stand to learn.
"So what exactly do you want with Potter?" She asked.
Not sure if he wanted to delve into this topic, Blaise did what he did best. Obfuscate. "To help him?"
Tracey tutted and poked him in the ribs with a well-manicured nail. Holding in a flinch and giving her a gentle push in response, Blaise glared at her. He'd always been confused as to why he let Tracey take so many liberties with his person, but he was self-aware enough to know he at least liked the casualness with which she treated him. A little physicality was what came with the territory.
"Well, you've been a little less dour lately," Tracey said. "So again, what exactly do you want from him?"
Blaise made to shrug, but he knew that Tracey deserved the truth.
"He makes me feel important," Blaise murmured, finding himself preoccupied with the stem of his cocktail glass. "I feel like I'm a part of something greater than myself or the limitations around our House."
"He makes you feel like a good person?" Tracey asked. For all her apparent childishness and lack of tact, Tracey was always a good listener, and she could read him better than most.
Blaise was about to respond when Slughorn cleared his throat, sounding over the murmur of conversation thanks to his Amplifying Charm.
"It is great to have you all here. I'll keep it short as this is a very informal do, so as always," Slughorn said with a broad smile, gesticulating his glass of wine into the air, "a toast to Hogwarts' brightest and best!"
Filled wine glasses appeared in front of every seated person's hand. Slughorn had always had a love of showmanship.
"To Slug Club!" came the joyous response, resounding powerfully in the acoustics of Slughorn's large office.
Feeling Slughorn's gaze settling on him, he lifted his own glass to his lips.
"To Slug Club," Blaise murmured dispassionately into his glass.
Tracey's eyes swept through the room, taking inventory of the Hogwarts alumni and students toasting. Turning to him, a bewildered expression on her face, she nudged him with urgency. "So, why did you join this cult?" she asked.
Accepting hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter, he considered Tracey's question. Daphne had been invited after the Christmas party, but she'd declined. Slughorn had been a little curt with him in the meeting following that, likely believing that Blaise had had a hand in it. He'd told her to head for the hills and not look back.
"When Slughorn decided that the mystique around my mother was my talent," Blaise said.
"You're pretty enough," Tracey said with a sniff after the furore had died away, replaced with the murmur of conversation and tinkling cutlery, "and you're the best in the year at Astronomy."
"It also helps that Granger is no longer taking Astronomy," Blaise said.
He chewed on his hors d'oeuvre, bruschetta sprinkled with golden salt. Blaise was thankful that even if had to suffer through these farcical events, he was able to eat some Italian food. The British fare day in day out was enough to make him hate all things roasted.
"Look around, Blaise. Take in your new… admirers." She tipped her head to her left before starting to eat her own hors d'oeuvre, a prawn summer roll.
Taking in her amused smirk, Blaise sighed and did as told. The demented Ravenclaw, Luna he thought her name was, was gazing at him. She was sat with Potter, the little Weasley, the boorish Weasley (had he and Granger finally gotten a hint?), Granger, and Longbottom (who must have been invited by the little Weasley). Raising an eyebrow in question to her unsettling gaze, she waved happily back at him, throwing him completely for a loop and bringing her friends' attention to his and Tracey's table. Feeling like he'd been out-manoeuvred, he turned back to Tracey who was watching him as she dabbed a napkin at her lips. He obsessively ignored the burning brand of Potter's gaze on his back.
"I'm so glad you're making friends!" Tracey cried with a wink over his head, likely at the Ravenclaw. She turned back to him, hazel eyes alight with mischief. "It's like you're a whole new Gryffindor Blaise!"
"Tracey," he snapped.
"Blaisey," she sang back.
Inhaling through his nose, he closed his eyes hoping that Tracey would have disappeared by the time he reopened up them. Luck wasn't smiling upon him as she was still sat in front of him, smiling like a loon. "Do you remember what happened the last time you called Daphne Daphney?"
"No, actually," Tracey said, coiling her hair around a finger. Blaise watched the humour on his friend's face with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "What'd she say?"
"Well, it was less what she said, but more about what she did," Blaise explained.
"I still don't recall," Tracey said, grinning now with mirth.
"It was a fetching pair of hooves she gave you," Blaise offered with his own smile.
"She did say she hated hearing her name with a neigh at the end," Tracey said with a laugh.
"Four times," Blaise reminded.
Tracey tutted. "I'm hard of hearing sometimes. Okay?"
Blaise reflected on his friends and their unorthodox ways of communicating: he through wisecracks and pointed comments, Daphne through cold logic and the occasional hex, and Tracey through her trademark tactless fun. That aside, Blaise found himself drawing parallels between them and Potter's trio. They both had a focal point – Potter for his own, Tracey for his, and they both involved a level of mutual dependence. Without Tracey, Blaise was sure he and Daphne would have happily parroted the blood supremacy line that characterised their house; while it would be out of convenience for himself, Daphne would likely have believed it. Becoming friends with Tracey had challenged her understanding of the world. The nature of dependence was different though for Potter. It was clear that Potter needed both Granger and Weasley. Granger for her encyclopaedic knowledge and overbearing hand – it was clear, even from Slytherin, that Granger spent more time mothering and hounding Potter than treating him like an equal. That was where Weasley came in, providing a large family and constant entertainment which would be attractive to an orphan. Really, it had been almost sad how much Potter had clung to Blaise's sense of humour, almost like a lifeline, but it made sense considering the life he had led. Hearing those stories had both intrigued and horrified Blaise. More the latter, though. It was hard to consider that Potter was younger than him yet had experienced so much more danger.
"Professor incoming," Tracey muttered.
They both rose to their feet, and Blaise plastered on his best high society mask. Tracey, at his side, straightened out her sleeves and fought the urge to fold her arms. She settled for wrapping her arm around his waist, and he stifled a grunt with hard-fought practice.
"Ah, Blaise, my dear boy," Slughorn said taking Blaise's free hand in a robust handshake.
"Professor," he said, dipping his head in greeting. Inside, he was a little confused as to when he'd become on first name basis with his Potions Professor. Deciding rather easily that it was Potter's fault, he finished his glass with a slow sip before placing it back on the table.
"I'm ever so glad you could make it," and the Professor turned towards Tracey, taking in her floral kimono with an air of polite amusement. "How exotic, Ms Davis. You're looking stunning tonight."
Tracey smirked at Slughorn.
"Thanks, Professor, and thank you for hosting such a lovely party on May Day," Tracey said with a brief curtsey.
Slughorn laughed, giving her a quick handshake before gesturing to their seats which they retook. "The pleasure is all mine. I'm ever so glad that Blaise chose to bring you and your lovely kimono," Slughorn replied, taking the free seat at their table. Taking a seat resulted in the belt restraining his gut to enter severe duress, contorting under the Professor's girth. Blaise watched this morbidly curious as to how much Slughorn had paid to have his clothes custom-tailored for his particular brand of rotundness.
"My aunt got it for me after a diplomatic mission with the Japanese Ministry," she said with a playful pose in her seat.
"Your aunt?"
Blaise's eyebrows rose in question, feeling it was unheard of for Slughorn to not know all the students from Wizarding backgrounds' families inside out.
"She was terrible at Potions and a Muggleborn, so I don't fault you for not knowing her," Tracey said, sounding almost as diplomatic as Blaise imagined her diplomat aunt would, but having known Tracey for so long, Blaise was well attuned with her subtle sardonicism. "She works as an envoy for the British Ministry in the ICW."
Slughorn spluttered indignantly, clearly horrified that he'd missed a student with an important relative, but he took in Tracey with the fanatical gleam he sometimes had when looking at Potter or when Blaise offered more information about his mother than Slughorn had expected. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Blaise sat back and waited for Tracey to be… collected.
"Elizabeth Houghton?" Slughorn asked after a slight pause. "Your late mother's younger sister?"
"The very same," Tracey confirmed.
Slughorn was peering at her as if deciding how best to appeal to Tracey, but the sight of a tall, blonde bouffant looming over Slughorn's shoulder allowed Blaise to give Tracey a well-deserved out. He hoped he didn't regret this.
"Mr Beaumont," Blaise stated.
With a billow of sapphire blue dress robes, the tall wizard stepped to Slughorn's side.
"Ah, Blaise. Lovely," the wiry blonde said, sounding as if their meeting was anything but lovely, though his tone picked up at the sight of Tracey and his faint French accent surged forth, gaining admirable strength. "et toi, belle femme?"
Tracey's eyebrows rose, but she smiled all the same. "Tracey Davis. Blaise's date for the evening."
"Louis Beaumont. Creative Director of Witch Weekly," and he bent over to place a featherlight kiss on the back of Tracey's hand, luxuriating in the faint blush that covered Tracey's cheeks when he pulled away. Blaise was deeply disappointed in Tracey's reaction. Beaumont turned back to Blaise, handsome face flinty once more, "and I am here with the arduous task of convincing Blaise to a shoot. Once again."
Slughorn laughed uproariously at Blaise's side. "Come on, Louis. You need to appeal to his vanity!"
Tracey giggled at Slughorn's embarrassing frankness, and Blaise resumed his impersonation of a gargoyle. Inside, he lamented the state of affairs that'd resulted in his ego becoming everyone's punching bag. Again, he decided it was smartest, and easiest, to blame Potter.
The wizard ran a hand through his hair. "I did, Horace. I spent many minutes lavishing praise on his looks and his style. I told him just how much my readers would love him if he did a cover for us, the monetary compensation, the contacts that such an opportunity would get him. He looked as he does now."
Slughorn peered at Blaise's face, moustache twitching to-and-fro with well-mannered humour. "Troublesome."
"Ah, Blaise's patented 'you're boring me and are a waste of space' look," Tracey said with the wisdom of a sage. "Exposure makes it more manageable."
Blaise frowned a little. Fighting the urge to conjure a mirror, he convinced himself that his pleasant mask of affability was still up.
"A long exposure then, I'm assuming," Beaumont said with a beady eye at Blaise. Blaise smiled thinly in response. "Well, that isn't the smile worth a pretty galleon."
"That's all I can manage sadly," Blaise said, maintaining the unworthy smile.
Tracey, like the she-devil she was, just stood there, lips twitching at his predicament.
"I saw you and Tracey over there smiling up a storm, so I'm not exactly sure who you're kidding," Beaumont said. He sighed deeply, robes expanding with the motion as if he were a balloon. "Look, free time is valuable and in short supply for me, pretty boy. Yes or no?"
"Now, now. No need to be rude," Slughorn said, sounding far too amused for Blaise's liking. Perhaps this was his revenge for Blaise masterfully avoiding any particularly probing questions about his mother.
It wasn't an unattractive offer. Blaise was well aware of how susceptible Witch Weekly's audience was to a handsome face and a pretty smile – he had noticed how insidious Lockhart's reach had been before his accident with Potter. It could set him up for life (not that he already wasn't), but he'd reflexively declined at the Christmas party out of a niggling feeling. Now, he was sure it was because it was an easy option. It represented him not utilising any talents he had, relying entirely on genetics. He wanted to be more than a beautiful face. Blaise wanted to be someone spoken of for something other than their exotic looks, muscled body, or worst of all, their mother. Thinking of Potter and the adulation that met his every utterance and movement, Blaise accepted that perhaps, he just wanted to be special. He didn't want fame; having spent years in the same castle as Potter, he was certain of that. He didn't need more gold. What he did want was to be a person of merit, someone in his own right and not an echo of his mother.
It was with that all in mind, Blaise decided to cut to the chase instead of stonewalling the French wizard for an hour like he did at the Christmas party, slowly driving Daphne insane. "I want more for myself than to be a cover model," Blaise said. "Thank you for your generous offer, Mr Beaumont, but – "
Beaumont sighed with relief. "Thank Merlin. Now I can tell Matilda you rejected the offer with an actual reason." A genuine smile crossed his face as he turned to Tracey. "A pleasure to meet you, Tracey. Best of luck with him," he said with a grave nod at Blaise.
"Oh, we're just friends. If there were another boy who looked like Blaise but crucially wasn't Blaise, I wouldn't be here," she explained with a crooked smile. Leaning against his shoulder, she sidled up even closer to him. "Still, he makes great eye candy though."
Blaise laughed hard at that, though he was more than a little offended by the look of profound clarity on Beaumont's face and Slughorn's belly laugh.
"Horace. Always a pleasure," Beaumont said with a robust two-handed shake of the Professor's hand.
"Likewise! I'm hoping to do another get together before the end of term, so will I be able to see you there? Hopefully with dear Matilda, of course," Slughorn said.
Beaumont scratched at his scraggly goatee in thought. "If I can get our dear editor away from her desk, I don't see why not. Should be easier than convincing Blaise over here."
Slughorn smiled pleasantly. "Maybe one day, Louis."
"Doubt it," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway, Floo still open? How you managed to convince Dumbledore for an open connection in times like these is beyond me, but you always work your magic, Horace."
"Good evening, Louis," Slughorn said, lifting his glass to his ex-student with a sly smirk worthy of his House.
Blaise was half-tempted to smirk himself at the put-out expression on the wizard's face at Slughorn's misdirection.
"Have a good one, Horace. Give that one lots of homework for me," Beaumont said.
He gave Blaise one last cold look before making his way to the fireplace, but not without one last refill at the wine fountain.
"He was here just to speak with me?" Blaise asked, looking for confirmation.
Slughorn nodded. "Of course. Louis is a busy man! Lead creative editor at Witch Weekly, and he's trying to expand operations to France. Very ambitious boy. One of my favourite Ravenclaws. He's always had a flair with a quill."
Sensing a lengthy spiel about other favourites in the works, Blaise's lips thinned, but Slughorn instead turned to face Tracey.
"But enough about him, would you mind if I spoke to Blaise for a second, Ms Davis?" Slughorn asked kindly.
Tracey nodded pleasantly. "Of course, Professor."
Quickly recognizing Bobbin stood by the wine fountain, Tracey strode through the crowd to the short Hufflepuff, having identified a good target for her form of harassment that masqueraded as conversation.
Half-expecting Slughorn's disappointment, he looked at him out of his peripheral vision to see a pleased expression on his face. Blaise was a little disconcerted at Slughorn's pleasure at his decision. There was no naivete in Blaise's mind regarding Slughorn's reason for including him in his trophy case of people – he was one of the best-looking students in the school with a ridiculously wealthy mother, so Blaise had his hackles up with the fact that Slughorn hadn't even pushed for the opportunity that he'd gone out of his way to arrange for him.
"You did an incredibly decent thing for Harry," Slughorn began, blindsiding Blaise with the topic. He'd expected some repudiation or confusion behind that mask of civility. Slughorn had been pushing for him to take that modelling opportunity since November. "It was an awful fright that morning to see him like that."
"I didn't really do much," Blaise said, remembering far too vividly Slughorn's blanch at the mangled mess of Potter's leg.
"Don't sell yourself short, Blaise," Slughorn said, peering strangely at him. "Poppy was ever so pleased with your calm response and fortitude."
Blaise gasped in surprise before remembering that his version of panicking was significantly less vocal than other people's, and at the time, following Pomfrey's instructions had been a better idea than staring dumbly at Potter's bloody femur. He'd done more than enough of that after they'd landed.
"I just did what was needed," he said with an uncomfortable shrug.
"You may not see it as much, but what matters is that you chose to do it," Slughorn said.
Again, Potter's rant about the importance of choice was rearing its ugly head but hearing it from Slughorn was a different matter. Behind all the bluster, the laughable covetousness of important and noteworthy people, Slughorn was a clever, accomplished wizard. Not one who'd survived, as Potter described himself, due to luck.
"Maybe, Professor," Blaise offered, not sure whether he was ready or wanted to commit to such a viewpoint.
Slughorn shook his head at him, a conflicted expression overcoming his usual joviality. "Perhaps I've done little to foster goodwill between us, Blaise. I've been ever so crude in my attempts to learn more about your mother, showing you as a person little interest. Will you forgive me?"
Blaise was a little confused as to where this came from, but several possibilities ran through his mind. Maybe Slughorn believed that he'd rejected Beaumont and his sudden sentimentality out of some form of spite. It was a reasonable conclusion, but Blaise had spent most of his life being treated as an extension of his mother. He'd long come to peace with it. Delving deeper, he considered that Slughorn may at least be attempting to manipulate him. Blaise could also be paranoid.
"It's no big issue, Professor," Blaise said with a pleasant smile. "Everyone I meet tends to be more interested in my mother."
Blaise let the unsaid 'I expected nothing better from you' sit for a moment. It was difficult for him to fight the smile of triumph threatening to appear on his lips at the genuine remorse on Slughorn's face.
"The second time this week I've been humbled by someone not even half my age," Slughorn said with a wan smile, looking at his empty glass with a hollow laugh. "This time I'm not even drunk!"
Blaise's face contorted in confusion. "Sir?"
"So much like his mother. Such a decent young man," he said, staring into the crowd of people behind them. "I have such deep regrets, Blaise, but returning to teaching has proven not to be one of them."
Blaise stared, baffled. Was this the moment that he announced that he was joining the Dark Lord or something equally drastic? He'd never been good at comforting people, and he didn't really want to comfort Slughorn, so he addressed him by honorifics, praying that their teacher-student relationship would be restored.
"Professor… are you alright?" Blaise asked, praying that his concern sounded sincere.
Slughorn just laughed off his concern, acting as if his sudden emotion of the last minute hadn't occurred with the quick, casual look at his pocket watch.
"Don't mind the senility of this old man, Blaise," he said with a wise smile, giving him a nod before rising to his feet. "Enjoy the party, and I look forward to seeing you bright and early in Potions tomorrow."
Still bewildered by Slughorn's behaviour, but thinking it wise not to dwell on it, he looked for Tracey. He pushed through the crush of people gathered about the wine fountain. Blaise found her in a corner, talking a mile a minute with Bobbin who was nursing a glass of wine and a silly grin.
"It was nice to talk to you, Melinda," Tracey said with a smile. "Sadly, my favourite accessory is here."
Bobbin giggled at Blaise, but it faded quickly at Blaise's flat expression. "And I'm here to take my least favourite fan," he drawled.
"Be nice," Tracey said before turning back to Bobbin with a graceful wave. "See you around."
"Bye, Tracey," Bobbin said.
Back at the safety of their table, Blaise rested his head on a hand. He felt emotionally exhausted by not just the events of the day, but the week. He looked with unrestrained want at the exit, but there was still a whole conversation with Potter to get through. Spying two seats available at Potter's table, Blaise decided it was time to take the plunge before Snape appeared and regaled him with tales of how a sentient bottle of shampoo had bullied him at Hogwarts or something.
"That bad of a conversation?" Tracey asked without any real sympathy.
Blaise sighed. "I'll tell you about it later, but let's deal with Potter first."
"Great. I have the list in my bra," she said.
Blaise was sad to admit that he could believe that. "Really?"
"No, it's in one of my kimono's many folds," she said with a laugh. "It's like the whole damn thing has an Extensible Charm on it."
Getting to his feet, he beckoned to the two seats Potter had left at his table.
"Let's take our time," Blaise said with a smirk. "I think I could do with some more wine."
Tracey took his hand in hers. "And I some water," she said with her own smirk.