A/N: At long last, back to some Blaise POV ;)

Chapter 19: Drunken men tell no tales

As Blaise was working his way up the stairs towards the boys' dorm, he was mentally working himself out of the fog currently inhabiting his brain and slowing down the sharpness of his senses considerably.

Not that he was a man unable to hold his liquor; having specialized in it over the past couple of years, but what he had not countered on was the entirely drug-inducing effect she had had on him.

Sure, he was the one who had come on to her in the first place, hoping – as he always did – to get some more exciting action out of a so-far tedious night, already grown tired of his compulsory, vapid Slytherin date whom he had ditched somewhere along the way. Why he had even chosen that blonde to begin with eluded him in a way that he, so far, had chosen to ignore in the promise of getting laid. Whether the girl actually had a brain or not had never been that high on his agenda; besides, he never really bothered getting to know any of his dates. Plus, they were so, well, easy. Not exactly slags, just easily molded to his needs. He definitely never had to ask twice.

However, ever since constantly stumbling into that infamous She-Weasel (probably – if he wanted to admit it – ever since that time in Sixth Year when she'd had the audacity to quip about his vanity), he had recognized a deeper dissatisfaction with his romantic liaisons. Something he likely had denied until she had given him a run for his money, not falling for his outer charms or any other flirtatious bullshit of his. He acknowledged that, at least.

And so, he found himself growing more quickly tired of every bird he found after that, unconsciously searching for something else, something… more, and none of them proving to be that great a challenge in any capacity, anyway.

Then again, had he not unwittingly always compared them to her in some way or another? Imagining what she would say or do if–

He felt almost ill, a sense of blasphemy still habitually rising at the thought of linking any of the Weasels to anything other than blood-traitorous rodents.

But, deep down, he had been greatly amused by the girl's boldness, unable not to admire her from afar, her obvious spirits and beauty; no matter how he otherwise felt about her particularly unfortunate genetics and House affiliation. It was an alluring clash, he found himself admitting; only heightened by his subtle observations of her 'extra-curricular activities' in their later years. The girl certainly didn't shy away from showing her appetite around those insipid, doe-eyed boys she for some inexplicable reason chose to partner up with, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't contemplated on making her another nod in his bedpost.

The opinions of his Housemates on the matter didn't really bother him that much, despite what he might have said once. After all, it was just sex, and he could easily use it as pretext and make them believe it was nothing of consequence – just as he did to himself. Or rather; that he would be the one to use her. Conquer her. The Gryffindor Lioness. Ah, yes.

Only, her animosity to be considered, on the other hand, far outshone any hypothetical occurrence of such intimate interaction; never stooping so low to sully herself with a Slytherin, Merlin forbid! He almost pitied Gryffindors and their damned holier-than-thou principles; bedding any Slytherin at any time was simply out the question!

They didn't know what they missed.

But with circumstances now thrust upon them both and having had the chance – or rather the liberty – to have her delicious body pressed against his, not once, but twice, and standing so close he hardly knew where his breath began and hers ended, he knew he would not lightly forget any comparisons to her in future conquests. And it troubled him. She had slithered her way in under his skin, far deeper than he liked. The heedless fantasies of her freckled porcelain skin flushed and bared in front of him in throes of passion under his ministrations were more and more frequently popping up into his mind, teasing his natural proclivities to a frustrating, almost unbearable point.

Thus his (regrettable) resuming liaison with a certain former Hufflepuff with whom he'd perhaps had the longest-standing arrangement, and, for a time, it had been good to get his kicks out with her. Yet, thoughts of her kept nagging in the back of his head, for some reason beyond mere thought of conquest. Especially after that fatal meeting in the Prefects' Bathroom where he had witnessed up-close just how womanly she had become in every sense of the word. Despite (or because of?) the familiar signs of warfare and melancholy lingering around the edges, sharpening her countenance. She had grown up.

By Salazar, had she grown up!

Don't get him wrong; she still had the bratty attitude of a true Gryffindor witch, grating his nerves with that well-known ignition he hadn't experienced since before the war.

But looking down into her face; those surprised, confused and angry eyes staring back up at him, the mirror was reflecting far too much for his own likening, something he tried desperately to ignore once he had escaped that steamy room.

He had seen something else he couldn't escape.

And tonight he hadn't been able to escape it either. Why, he had practically initiated it with his inane attempt of small talking after they had darted Filch and that bloody ghost the same afternoon! Sometimes he damned his own flirtatious mouth for acting out so instinctively!

It hadn't helped how striking she had looked in her (presumably and not too shabby-looking Muggle) outfit when he spotted her berating a group of Second Year-party crashers and he, so conveniently, chose to 'bump' into her. In order to get a reaction out of her? For her to notice him? He couldn't rightly say. But he had wanted to make an impression; to revert back to the image of his former self after having been so careless to show weakness that afternoon in the Astronomy Tower.

At first, his initial reaction to his own display had been one of repulsion, but also, strangely, relief. Like a bubble inside him had deflated instead of burst. She hadn't judged him. No, actually, she seemed to understand exactly why he had needed to let his guard down; to give in to his frustration and sense of helplessness regarding the whole Dementor situation. In the end, she was the only other person to have witnessed it all, firsthand.

The famous war heroine, hailed around the world for her courage. She had all the cards on her hand when it came to verifying his credibility in the matter. Every opportunity to settle the scores between them and what had happened to her friends during the war. He was, after all, not entirely innocent in any case.

And still, she stood by him – like it was the most natural thing to do. No hidden agendas. No lies. No black-and-white justification of the past.

Damned Gryffindor virtue!

As his mind had stayed on her after leaving her riled and puzzled by the dorm entrance this evening, pulling his bothersome date along with him, already thinking of some way to get of the latter, his thoughts had been further occupied by Theo's drunken appearance; another disturbing reminder of how their lives had been before and during the war, behind the curtains. The little scenario brought his musings to what occurred next:

"What was up with him?" his date inquired, staggering to keep up.

Blaise blinked, thoroughly distracted, "Hm?"

"Why, Theo, of course!" the girl huffed beside him, put out by his inattention.

The faintly disconcerted expression on his face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Ah, well, Theo," he shook his head and chuckled overbearingly, deflecting any outward worry. "Can never bring him anywhere. That boy sure knows how to start a party."

The blonde on his arm tsked in a pathetic attempt to demonstrate sympathy – as if she suddenly had a deep kinship with the subject of their discussion. "Always Theo. He never changes, does he?" she lamented rhetorically, her attention quickly diverted by the more lively parts of the festivities around them.

A twitch surfaced in Blaise's brow. "No," he muttered under his breath to no one in particular. "No, I guess, he doesn't," the meaning of the words falling on deaf ears.

Despite having feigned disinterest in Nott's welfare, Blaise kept a close, surreptitious eye on him after the teens holding him had deposited their 'cargo' in a settee arrangement near the entrance to the boys' dormitories. Theo was too far gone to protest or move once seated and instead blearily drank away his sorrows by himself or accosted unaware bystanders with drunken babble, accompanied by little too eager gestures.

Having finally had enough of watching the boy's misdemeanor, Blaise excused himself from his boring company and helped his mate up the stairs, leaving him in their dorm room, hoping Theo, at least, had enough brain cells left for the night to figure out how to get to bed by himself.

Of course, he should have known better.

He sighed. What troubles had that boy gotten himself into now?

Apropos, after coming back down to the party, Blaise had been caught by the sight of a red-haired individual by the bar, standing tensely beside a friend while facing off a certain new teacher whom Blaise had already had the courtesy of knowing through class. A right wanker, that one, he had quickly sussed.

He moved to stand inconspicuously nearby, eavesdropping on their highly interesting 'conversation' and had deliberately followed her after witnessing her downing two shots of Firewhiskey and running out of there, quicker than you could say 'Merlin's saggy pants'! Then, he had stayed in the shadows by the corridor when she happened to 'run into' another unwelcomed figure in the shape of the Head Auror himself. Blaise had been fairly impressed by her skills of deflection, though they were a bit rough around the edges… from a Slytherin's point of view. Still, he could sense discomfiture and distrust rolling off of her in waves and he didn't blame her. That dude was one suspicious, unremitting son of a–

"Nott! Mate! Watch out!"

"Hey, don't do that–!"

Blaise was pulled from his ruminations as he now found himself, for the second time that night, in the door opening to one of the dorm rooms, taking in the scene before him. It was currently occupied by a couple of Sixth and Seventh Year boys; the worried onlookers to an highly entertained and even more intoxicated Theo than last seen (if that was even possible) perched in the frame of an open window, dangling a poor boy – turned one-third pig with wings – mid-air above the floor from the point of his wavering wand.

Stepping into the room, Blaise quietly made his presence known, and the boys whipped their heads towards him; eyes wide, gulping nervously, yet also clearly relieved to see him. The movement belatedly caught Theo's attention as well as he turned to the door, his red-cheeked, pale face breaking into a bleary-eyed recognition.

"Blaise! Blaisey-boy! There you are! Where on earth have you been?! I've been looking all over for you! You've missed all the fun," he chortled excitedly and momentarily forgot the Levitated boy who, as a result, took a dangerous dive towards the floor and would have crashed if Blaise's quick wand reflexes hadn't caught him just before he hit the ground. The boy's snout-faced expression seemed greatly thankful for that, so did the boys standing around him.

"Quit mucking about, Theo," Blaise sighed, disgruntled, and transfigured the boy back to himself, ignoring Theo's protests from the window. "Scatter off," he then addressed the spectators sternly, "Go to bed and forget this ever happened. I do not want to hear it whispered in the Great Hall in the morning nor ever. Is that understood?"

The boys nodded rapidly, shooting apprehensive looks at Theo – who took a large swig from a champagne bottle in his hand – before dispersing and hopping into their respective, curtained canopy beds.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Blaise eyed his friend in the windowsill with a reproachful, resigned mien. He was, after all, not surprised by his behavior. Theo had sought refuge in the bottle from a rather early age, given the treatment he received from home, and had always had the tendency to go on long benders; habit still sticking. Likely gotten himself into a lot of trouble, too, had it not been for Blaise and Draco's interference, halting him from doing stupid things or hurting himself. Most of the times. Other times, they were too late.

"Sooo, how'z your date?" the subject of his brooding interrupted with a leer.

"Huh?" For a moment, flashes of a flustered, slightly intoxicated, certain female redhead flitted through Blaise's mind and he froze at the thought that his friend had somehow managed to witness his interaction with the Weaslette just moments ago.

Why he was worried, he wasn't sure. There was no way his reeling friend could have been two places at once given his current state.

"You know," Theo drawled, "Selena Kaiser? Ssznooty, blond Slytherin. Brother Oden was a year above us, remember? Best Quid-hiccup-ditch Player six years in a row. Man, that one was a legend. Pure Slytherin ari-hiccup-stocracy." Perhaps realizing he was digressing, he sluggishly shook off his wistful expression and got back on track. "Anywayssz. Went well?" He wiggled his eyebrows, tongue curling under his front teeth as he tried to lean slightly over in the windowsill and at the same time steady himself.

Inwardly, Blaise breathed in relief. "Oh, right, her."

"Yeah, her," Theo scoffed lecherously then made a comical face as something seemed to dawn on him. "Wait. Who did you think I meant?"

Blaise didn't care much for the Cheshire cat-smile that formed on his friend's face in the silence that followed. Even drunk as a skunk, Theo had his moments of disconcerting astuteness, albeit slower in process than normal.

Deciding to avert his question, Blaise shrugged noncommittally, turning his attention to an empty canopy bed on his left, picking at one of its shabby tassels.

"Yeah, well, bit of a dim bird, if you ask me. Got rather quickly bored with her and dumped her skinny arse somewhere along the party. But I'm sure she's having a right blast," he derided in obvious indifference.

Theo hiccupped and turned fully towards him from his place in the window. "Nah-ah, don't you try sszidestepping the isszue here," he slurred with a reprimanding finger in a rather useless attempt to appear stern.

Cocking a caustic eyebrow, the Italian pursed his lips. "Your mouth is running off with you as usual, Nott. I have no idea what you are on about, so will you please drop it and come down from there already?"

"Aha!" Theo exclaimed exaggeratedly (prompting Blaise to shush him in annoyance) and pointed with bottle in hand, "I knew there was something! Or rather someone! And I will bet all the Knuts and Sickles in Gringotts that that someone is a certain redheaded –"

"Theo," Blaise interjected warningly.

"–feisty –"

"Right."

"–hot, little –"

"Hm."

"–Weasley!"

Blaise heaved a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. When did he ever learn? Asking Theo to keep his nose out of other people's businesses was like asking snakes not to slither. And Theo was a Slytherin through and through.

"And I suspect you are going to make some follow-up joke about me having met in secret with one of the male Weasels, aren't you?" he deadpanned.

Theo grinned deviously, stretching and stroking his thin torso in catlike satisfaction. "Aww, Blaisey-boy, you know me so well!"

"And you know I am not going to deign you with an answer," Blaise rumbled tersely, hoping to inflict enough finality about the matter into his voice for his friend to get the message.

"Ah, but your responses tell me everything I want to know," Theo continued to grin in the same mischievous manner and Blaise momentarily cursed him for being his friend. Why he even bothered letting anyone close was a mystery indeed.

"That good was she?" the pale boy teased when he got no response.

Again with the infuriating, unrelenting questions!

Growling lowly, Blaise shot daggers at his grinning friend. "You know, I'm sorely tempted to cast a Muffliato on you at this moment."

Theo blinked owlishly for a couple of seconds. Then his face broke and he convulsed into a fit of hysteric, somewhat contrived laughter, almost falling down the windowsill from the effect. Why it was so darn funny, Blaise had no clue, and, frankly, he didn't care.

"Would you please keep it down, Nott?" he hissed, jaw clenched. "This has already been far too publicized a conversation for my taste, not to mention, utterly asinine. Let's not tempt fate any further."

Theo simply kept sniggering, pointing a mocking finger at him, "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Let the entire school know just how deep in it you are? And with your former fiend, no less?!"

Not taking the bait, Blaise crossed his arms once more and regarded his friend with a withering stare until the giggles on the other end slowly started evaporating.

The boy gave one last hiccupping giggle, shrugging, "Okay, I tried. But I still think you should give it a shot, Blaisey-boy. F-fuck the gossipers!" he proclaimed dramatically before sending the Italian a twinkling wink. Blaise couldn't rightly say if he was serious or not.

"Hm. I'll take that into consideration," he muttered dryly in return.

"Music to my sschweet earz," Theo sing-songed, taking another generous gulp of the large bottle in his hand, and Blaise rolled his eyes, not bothering to correct his friend who seemed to suddenly have reached a state past drunkenness.

Holding out an arm, he beckoned him down from the windowsill. "Now, come on, Teddy, get a move on. Can't be standing around here all night."

"Hmm-riiight." Theo's brows drew together, trying to focus in on Blaise and pointing the bottle at him, "Prefect. You. I remem-hiccup-ber."

"Exactly. Me. Prefect. Also: Your friend," Blaise replied with measured patience. "Now, get down from there and get into bed, so that I don't have to Levitate you down myself."

Theo pouted petulantly. "Hmph, always so fussy. I'm perfectly fine, I tell you," he groused, starting to tip forward just in time for Blaise to step forward and grab hold of one strong, bony shoulder, steering him safely to the floor and taking the near-empty bottle from him. A little unsteady on the legs, the lanky boy managed to stagger towards the line-up of beds, coming to the wrong one, of course, before Blaise intercepted him, guiding him towards Theo's own bed and pushing him to sit down.

"Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning, yeh mate?"

"Righty-o," Theo saluted in mock-seriousness, stifling a burp. He glanced around him on the bed as if, for a moment, unsure how to go from there, then exhaled heavily and threw himself on top of the duvet, grapping its hems and rolled into a ball, clothes, wand and all.

Blaise shook his head and was just about to retreat from his slumbering friend when Theo stirred an eyelid, shooting him another groggy, albeit sneaky look above the covers of his cocooned form.

"Snuggle up with me?" he entreated with an innocent mien. "Pretty, please?"

Suppressing an eye-roll, Blaise sighed, "Mate, come on. I'm not gonna snuggle up with you, you know that."

Usually, Theo was very childlike in his various stages of drunkenness, at other times excessively randy, and given his close to unlimited preferences (though he normally chose to keep a low profile about it), he had propositioned both Blaise and Draco over the years when they brought his wobbly body to bed. They always forbearingly declined, knowing their friend wasn't in his senses, and Blaise often suspected the boy wanted comfort more than sex and not all that aware who he asked in particular. Thank Salazar, Theo did not take much in life personally and usually forgot everything that had happened in his drunken stupor, returning to his sarcastic, pensive and perverted old self the next day.

Though the boy's mouth, at present, was hidden under the duvet, Blaise knew it was curved into a pouting line, seeing his puppy-dog-eyes pleading up at him.

Shaking his head once again in affirmation, the Italian sucked his teeth and turned to saunter to his own bed, weary and head in a spin, having already had more of his fair share of adventures for the night.

"Go to sleep, Nott," he called back over his shoulder, knowing, without looking, that Theo had heard him. It was always like this with that boy. And just as he predicted he heard a couple of demonstrative grunts of displeasure behind him, the rustling of sheets and then – after a beat – the heavy breathing of Theodore Nott, gone out like a light.

Blaise readied himself for bed and though decidedly exhausted, he ended up tossing and turning restlessly for a couple of hours, listening to Theo's light snores until sleep finally took him.

The last images that flew across his mind were colored by various, muddied emotions, thoughts and faces. A pair of bewildered, amber eyes stood out and the image transformed into a hazy-edged scenery; of her gazing back at him across a crowded room. Her expression curiously melancholy as she mouthed something he did not catch and turned away in a swirl of red hair, disappearing from his sight, like a gust of wind through an open window.

When he groggily awoke the next morning, hung-over and not at all rested, he wasn't rightly sure what parts of last night's events had been real and what had been imagined.