A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Eight

It takes Draco another few minutes to decipher the pattern in the weave of magic. He realizes that the older the signature, the closer to the ceiling it is, roaming in peaceful, timed circles. There's magic that is very new, like his own, that bounces off the walls to get familiar with it's surroundings. And then there's the magic that has somewhat settled, like Harry's.

From far away, Draco can see Harry's deep red ribbon of magic. It's always impatiently banging against the cage of Voldemort's web, always trying to escape. Draco inwardly sighs in sorrow.

It seems that even in death, the Dark Lord still troubles the boy.

He takes a step back and twirls, looks up, examining the swirls of witches and wizards before. The blanket of the new, buzzing strings of signatures is very thin. He concentrates on looking beyond that, to try and get a glimpse at what the second layer looks like.

His eyes widen.

*******

An hour and approximately twelve minutes later, Blaise has maneuvered himself to the head of the table. Ron kept, quite irritatingly, placing books in front of him when he was done scanning through them, effectively kicking Blaise out of his little corner.

Blaise has scrolled through about seven small books while Ron has only gone through three small ones, one big, and now the second tome he's currently holding. He has his notes to his left and Blaise has his to his right, and every now and then their elbows graze and Ron twitches every single time.

It amuses Blaise.

So he keeps doing it, pretends not to notice when their sweaters brush and Ron quickly lifts his eyes to Blaise to see if he notices. When Ron realizes Blaise is seemingly impervious to it, he lowers his head back into the pages because he will not be the first one to complain.

It goes on for another ten minutes before Blaise can't hold it in anymore, so he does it one last time. He hears Ron inhale quietly, and he looks up to laugh in the Gryffindor's face when he sees there's already a set of blue eyes on him.

Blaise is momentarily surprised.

"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"

Blaise opens his mouth and Ron looks down onto it before raising his eyes back to Blaise's. The Slytherin feels as if he's been hit with a Confundus.

"Don't lie."

"I," Blaise feels his voice die, he's never had Weasley stare at him like this. Then again, he's never voluntarily spent time with him, either. It makes his lungs shrink and shrivel and his lips part at the way Weasley keeps darting his eyes from his lips to his eyes. "Yes."

Ron tilts his head curiously and stares at him some more, and Blaise feels obligated to keep quiet. It also may be because most of the crowd that had been in the library has gone back to the dorms to prepare for dinner.

The moment breaks when Ron shakes his head and turns back to his book.

"Slytherin to the end," he hears Ron mumble. And then Ron raises his head again and grins. Ron grins at him, unabashed and not upset and Blaise is so confused.

Blaise stands abruptly, his knees hit the table and it shakes, and his knees hurt, but he has the sinking feeling that he needs to get out of here.

Ron's smile falls when he sees the look on Blaise's face. "Zabini?"

"Excuse my haste, Weasley," he says stiffly, folding his hands behind his back. "I forgot I have matters to tend to."

Blaise bows curtly before about-facing and walking away. Ron stares at his retreating back with furrowed brows and until he disappears behind a bookshelf. He shrugs, and he digs his nose back into his book.