A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Forty-Eight

Blaise blinks in the morning sun and sits up, stretching his arms up as he smacks his lips. He looks around, sees the curtains are pulled back to allow the white light of the reflecting snow passage into his room. His books are all scattered across his desk and he knows he won't arrange them until the night before they're bound to go back to classes.

His eyes travel to the door of his washroom. He knows it's squeaky clean, the elves never falter in leaving it that way. But he wants a bath and his washroom doesn't have a tub. So he thinks about going to the Common Washroom, and he shrugs.

He slides off his mattress, sliding on his moccasins as he stifles a yawn. His wand is swished and his toiletries come floating behind him as he leads directly to the washroom at the end of the hall.

Usually, Blaise wakes up way earlier than anyone else, which means that the washroom was free of busybodies and he could take his time scrubbing his body to the point of it tingling.

So he wasn't really expecting a raven-haired boy to be exiting, half-naked and only in a towel, with wet tendrils hanging down his face, and a red lollipop hanging from his lips.

"Oh," Blaise stutters, the sleep in his eyes being slapped away immediately. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," the boy smirks lopsidedly, the sucker in his mouth dragging obscenely across his lips. He gives him a once over.

"I, uh," Blaise clears his throat. Never in his life has he ever had to come across attractive men. Never. All the boys in his House were more like annoying brothers that never minded their business.

The air is knocked out of his lungs when the boy reaches out and puts his thumb on his chin, effectively closing his mouth. "Don't want to catch flies."

"Right. Thanks."

"Ricky," the boy grins, his eye dropping in a wink. "Call me Ricky."

"Thanks, Ricky."

"So," he leans against the tile wall of the entrance hall and looks down Blaise's body again. "First time I'm seeing you around."

"I...I actually don't use this washroom often. I wanted a bath."

"Fancy," the boy grins around his lollipop.

"Yes. Quite. Well, I'll just be going, now."

"Never caught your name," he says before he can pass him.

Blaise looks down at the outstretched hand that was meant to catch his bicep and then back at the boy's sage green eyes. "Blaise."

He gives him a toothy smile. "See you around, Blaise."

The darker Slytherin doesn't wait to see him walk off, he just hurries further into the washroom until he sees the stalls and the round-about of sinks.

He twists all the knobs and until he's surrounded by noise, he exhales, sitting on the edge of the pool that's facing the entrance.

The real face of a young criminal, Blaise thinks. The way he carried himself, almost like he was playing a game.

Blaise takes his time unbuttoning his sleeping shirt, lets it graze his shoulders softly as he lets it fall on the stone floor. He stands, pulling his sleeping trousers off and sits back down as he waits for the water to reach the desired depth.

He's swinging his legs back and forth, the froth of the colored soaps rising and rising as the pool fills up. He gets ready to pull his pants down, already has his fingers in the elastic, when a body comes walking briskly into the washroom.