They were having a normal morning at home. Ginny was sipping coffee at the dining table, while he was reading his book.
After a while, he put down the book and looked at Ginny. "You know, we haven't had sex on the dining table." he said, his voice low and seductive.
She raised an eyebrow and looked at him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Is that a challenge?" she asked, her voice dripping with sexiness.
He grinned and stood up, making his way towards her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I dare you."
Ginny's eyes sparkled with excitement as she put down her wine glass and stood up, her body pressing against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, their tongues exploring each other's mouths.
Blaise ran his hands down her body, feeling her curves through her blouse. He unbuttoned it slowly, revealing her lacy black bra and her ample cleavage. He bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently.
She moaned and ran her fingers through his hair, her body writhing with pleasure. She unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and abs. She traced her fingers over his skin, feeling the warmth of his body.
He picked her up and placed her on the dining table, her legs spread wide. He knelt down and pulled down her panties, revealing her wet pussy. He leaned in and started licking and sucking on her clit, making her moan louder.
She grabbed onto the edge of the table, her body trembling with pleasure. She looked down at him, his tongue working magic on her pussy. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm.
She moaned and ran her fingers through his hair.
Ginny grabbed onto the edge of the table, her body trembling with pleasure. She looked down at Blaise, his tongue working magic on her glorious pussy. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm.
Blaise stood up and pulled down his pants, revealing his hard cock. He rubbed it against her throbbing cunt, teasing her. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, her body begging for more.
He pushed himself inside of her, filling her up completely. He started thrusting in and out, their bodies slapping against each other. She moaned and screamed, her orgasm building up inside of her.
He grabbed onto Ginny's hips and started thrusting harder and faster, his cock hitting her G-spot.
Draco apparated into the Zabini residence, unannounced and uninvited. The sound of his sudden arrival startled the couple while Ginerva being raw dogged on the dining table. Blaise and Ginerva looked up in shock, their intimate time momentarily interrupted.
"Merlin, Ginerva, I'll need to obliviate myself," Draco exclaimed, covering his eyes with both hands. Her bum was more white than he had anticipated, and he felt a flush of embarrassment at his intrusion.
She quickly adjusted her dress and gave him a pointed look. "Ferret, what on earth are you doing here?" she asked, her voice a mix of irritation and surprise.
Blaise, ever the composed one, leaned back in his chair in his birthday suit and raised an eyebrow. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Malfoy?"
Draco dropped his hands and sighed, feeling a bit sheepish. "I need your help," he admitted, his tone serious. "
Her irritation softened slightly, replaced by concern. "What's wrong, Malfoy?"
Draco took a seat, glancing around to ensure they were alone. "It's about something that you have no business sticking your nose into."
Blaise exchanged a look with her, then she nodded. "Alright, Ferret, then I'm out of the room."
"AND NEXT TIME LET ME HAVE AT LEAST TWO ORGASMS BEFORE YOU BARGE IN." Ginny collected her knickers from the table and left upstairs.
Draco took a deep breath, recounting the events of the past week. He told Blaise about his fears of Ronald revealing their secrets, the visit to the black market, and the acquisition of the untraceable wand. As he spoke, the gravity of the situation settled over the room, casting a pallor on the previously lighthearted evening.
"I need to protect my wife from him," Draco said, his voice resolute. "And I need your help to do it."
Blaise noded in agreement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few minutes later, Zabini was dressed in his immaculate Valentino suit and headed out to the joke shop WWW, where Ronald worked. Draco watched as his friend adjusted his tie with meticulous care, every movement precise and deliberate.
"Make sure that he gets the massage" Draco commanded, a hint of command in his voice.
"Leave it to me," he said, a glint in his eye. "Weasley won't know what hit him."
Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Just... try to keep it subtle," he cautioned, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "We don't want to attract any unwanted Ministry attention."
At Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the vibrant atmosphere contrasted starkly with Blaise's mission. The shop buzzed with energy, colorful products lining the shelves and cheerful customers milling about. Blaise strode in, his presence commanding attention despite the jovial surroundings.
Ronald, who was busy assisting a group of young witches with a selection of prank items, looked up and spotted Blaise. His expression shifted from confusion to wariness as Blaise approached.
"Ronald Weasley," he greeted smoothly, his voice cutting through the chatter.
Ron straightened, his eyes narrowing. "Zabini. What do you want?"
Blaise smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Just a word. In private, if you don't mind."
Ron glanced around, then nodded curtly. "Fine. Follow me."
They moved to the back of the shop, away from prying eyes and ears. Once they were alone, Ron crossed his arms and faced Blaise. "Alright, what is this about?"
Blaise's demeanor shifted from casual to serious in an instant. "Draco came to me with concerns about your recent... interactions with Hermione. He's worried about what you might do."
Ron scoffed. "Worried, is he? After everything he's done?"
Blaise raised an eyebrow - "And what is that he done"?
Ron's eyes flashed with anger. "He married her, manipulated her. He's the reason she's not talking to us anymore".
Blaise's gaze hardened. "Be that as it may, this isn't the time for grudges. Malfoy has made it clear that he won't tolerate any threats to Hermione's safety. And I'm here to make sure you understand that."
Ron stared at Blaise, a mixture of resentment and grudging respect in his eyes. "So, what? You're here to intimidate me?"
Blaise's smile returned, this time with a hint of genuine amusement, while pulling out a Wasp Injector knife. "That we're all on the same page. Hermione's happiness is OUR priority. If you truly care about her, you'll stay out of their way."
Ron clenched his jaw but remained silent, the weight of Blaise's words sinking in.
Blaise nodded, satisfied. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other."
With that, Blaise turned and left the shop, leaving Ron standing alone, his thoughts a tumultuous mix of anger, regret, and reluctant acceptance.
Malfoy waited outside of the shop, enjoying his mint flavored ice cream like nothing happened inside. "Did Weasel get the message?" Draco asked.
With a smirk, Blaise just smiled, tucking his knife into his belt. "He did," he answered.
Muggles are good at some inventions at least.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ginny was busy in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared lunch. The smell of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread filled the air, making the cozy home feel warm and inviting. But beneath the surface, a sense of unease nagged at her. Blaise had disappeared earlier without a word, leaving her to wonder where he had gone.
As she placed the final touches on their meal, she heard the distinct crack of apparition from the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced over her shoulder to see Blaise, looking slightly disheveled but composed, striding into the room.
"Where've you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the concern in her voice. She wiped her hands on her apron, watching him closely.
Blaise met her gaze, his usual nonchalant expression firmly in place. He shrugged, brushing off the dust on his jacket as if he hadn't been up to anything too serious. "The spoiled one needed some help with his business," he said with a wry smirk, referring to Draco in the way only Blaise could—both affectionately and with a hint of exasperation.
She frowned, folding her arms. "What's he up to now?" She tried to keep her tone light, but the curiosity—and worry—was evident in her eyes.
He stepped further into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, you know Draco, always in some mess he can't seem to get out of without dragging everyone else into it." His voice was teasing, but there was something else there, something unspoken. He avoided Ginny's gaze for a moment, focusing instead on the neatly laid-out lunch she had prepared.
She narrowed her eyes, sensing that Blaise wasn't telling her the full story. "Blaise," she began, her voice firmer now, "you've been gone for hours. You don't just disappear like that without saying something unless it's serious." She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm. "What's really going on?"
Blaise hesitated, glancing down at her hand before finally meeting her eyes. For a split second, the mask of calm that he always wore cracked, and Ginny saw the tension behind it. He sighed, pushing away from the counter and taking a seat at the table.
"It's... complicated, Gin," he admitted, rubbing his temples. "Draco's dealing with some things—things I can't really go into too much detail about." He paused, clearly debating how much to reveal. "Let's just say he's got a lot on his plate right now, and he needed me to help... take care of something."
Ginny sat down across from him, her brow furrowing in concern. "What kind of 'something'?" she pressed. "You're not in danger, are you? Draco's not pulling you into something that could get you both in trouble?"
He shook his head, offering her a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, it's nothing like that." He reached out, taking her hand in his. "I promise, I'm not in danger. Draco's just—well, let's say he's got some personal issues that he's trying to handle, and he needed a little backup."
She studied his face, searching for any signs that he was holding back more than he let on. She knew Blaise had a way of glossing over things, especially when it came to matters involving Draco, but this felt different. There was an edge to his voice, a subtle tension that she couldn't ignore.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" she said softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't like it when you keep things from me, especially when it seems like something's bothering you."
Blaise's expression softened at her words. He let out a long breath, running his thumb over the back of her hand. "I know, love," he murmured. "And I'm not trying to keep anything from you—it's just... Draco's got himself in a bit of a mess, and it's not really my place to share the details. But I swear, I'm fine."
LIAR.
She gave him a skeptical look, but she knew that pushing Blaise too hard would only make him shut down further. She trusted him, even if she didn't trust Draco as much. "Alright," she said finally, though her voice still held a trace of doubt. "But if you ever need to talk... I'm here. Always."
He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I know. And I appreciate it more than you know." He stood up, pulling her to her feet as well. "Now, let's forget about Draco for a while. You've been slaving away in here, and I'm starving." His attempt to change the subject was obvious, but Ginny let it slide, deciding to focus on the moment rather than the unanswered questions still swirling in her mind.
They sat down to eat, the weight of the earlier conversation still lingering in the air, though Blaise did his best to steer their discussion toward lighter topics. She watched him closely as they talked about mundane things—Quidditch, the latest gossip about their friends—but her mind kept drifting back to Draco and whatever mess he had dragged Blaise into. She trusted Blaise with her life, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something much bigger was going on beneath the surface.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ginny's patience had been tested to its absolute limits over the last few weeks. It wasn't just Blaise and his secrecy that gnawed at her, though that alone was enough to make her want to hex him into next week. No, the real test of her sanity came in the form of one Pansy Parkinson. The woman was an absolute menace, a force of chaos wrapped in couture, and—without a doubt—the most dramatic human being on the face of the earth.
Ginny had always known Pansy could be a handful. The girl was sharp-tongued, with a flair for theatrics that rivaled even the most eccentric of divas. But ever since Pansy's wedding planning had kicked into high gear, she'd become something else entirely—a whirlwind of hysteria, tears, and unreasonable demands. If the girl wasn't crying over the shade of her bouquet, she was threatening to hex the caterer for not understanding the importance of "ambiance." It was as if the wedding itself was some sort of magical duel, and Pansy was determined to come out victorious, no matter who—or what—stood in her way.
She hadn't thought it was possible for someone to be so intensely, passionately involved in every tiny detail. But Pansy had proven her wrong, day after exasperating day. From the moment they began planning, it was as though the universe had handed Pansy a wand and said, "Here, make everyone around you as miserable as humanly possible."
The first sign that Pansy was, perhaps, taking things a bit too far came during a particularly absurd meltdown over the color of the bridesmaids' dresses.
"It needs to be the exact shade of moonlit lavender," Pansy had wailed one evening, holding up fabric swatches with trembling hands. "Not too light, but not too dark, or it'll ruin everything! Red, you don't understand—the balance will be off! The aesthetic will be ruined!"
She had blinked, staring at the other woman in disbelief. "Pansy, it's lavender. I doubt anyone will notice if it's a shade lighter or darker."
"Oh, everyone will notice!" she had snapped, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and indignation. "I will notice, and if it's wrong, it will haunt me for the rest of my life! Do you want that on your conscience, Red? Do you?"
She had taken a deep breath and counted to ten—twice. "Alright, Pansy, we'll find the right shade. No one's going to be haunted by a lavender dress."
But that was just the beginning. The flowers were next, a debate that went on for what felt like centuries. Pansy had wanted white roses—no, ivory—no, creamy white—with just a hint of blush, but not too much blush, because Merlin forbid the roses upstaged her gown. The poor florist had looked ready to flee the country by the time the conversation was over, and she had silently wondered if maybe she should do the same.
And then there was the cake. Ginny still had nightmares about the cake.
Pansy had spent hours—literal hours—going over every possible flavor, texture, and decoration. "The cake must be a work of art," she had declared, her voice solemn as if she were discussing the outcome of a political summit. "Something that people will talk about for decades. No ordinary cake will do. It has to be perfect. Do you understand, Red? Perfect."
She had nodded along, though her mind had been elsewhere, mostly fantasizing about setting the entire cake on fire just to be done with the discussion. Who cared if it was vanilla or chocolate? Who cared if the icing was too thick or the sugar roses weren't quite right? Pansy, apparently, and she was making it everyone's problem.
The absurdity of the whole situation only grew as the days wore on. Every tiny detail became a matter of life or death for Pansy, from the seating arrangement (which had to be meticulously planned so that no one of questionable blood status sat too close to any purebloods, even though it was mostly a joke at this point) to the lighting of the reception hall (because apparently, certain kinds of magical light could make one look "unflatteringly washed out"). And Merlin help anyone who didn't meet her impossible standards.
By the time she had her fill of Pansy's dramatics, she was certain she had grown a few new gray hairs.
Blaise, of course, found the whole situation mildly amusing, which only served to irritate Ginny further.
"She's being ridiculous, Blaise!" She had ranted one evening after a particularly exhausting day spent helping Pansy pick out her wedding shoes. (Yes, wedding shoes—and apparently, they had to be just the right height and made of a material that wouldn't "scuff easily under pressure." Whatever that meant.)
Blaise had merely smirked, lounging comfortably on their couch with a glass of Firewhiskey in hand. "Darling, Pansy's always been dramatic. This is nothing new."
"This is next-level madness!" she had countered, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I've never seen someone lose their mind over the texture of their wedding veil!"
He chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to help. Pansy doesn't do anything halfway."
" I thought I knew what I was getting into," Ginny muttered darkly. "Turns out, I was woefully unprepared."
But it wasn't just Pansy's obsessive attention to detail that was driving her up the wall. It was the way she managed to rope everyone else into her wedding madness, as if it was their responsibility to make her big day the event of the century.
Pansy had somehow managed to get Draco involved in the seating arrangements ("*Honestly, Draco, you can't just sit Potter next to your mother! There will be chaos!") and Theo had been tasked with overseeing the music selection ("I want something elegant but also modern—nothing too stuffy, but nothing that will make me cringe. You understand, don't you, Theo?"). Even Blaise had been roped into selecting the right table linens, though Ginny had yet to hear the end of his complaints about that particular task.
" It's like she's planning the bloody wedding of the century," she grumbled as she chopped vegetables for dinner one night. "Who cares if the centerpieces have the wrong shade of gold? They're just flowers!"
He smirked from across the room, where he was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "You care, apparently."
"I care because she's making me care!" she shot back, waving the knife in the air for emphasis. "She's driving me mental, Blaise. If I hear the word 'aesthetic' one more time, I swear I'm going to—"
" You'll what?" he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"I'll hex the entire bloody wedding!" she declared, slamming the knife down onto the cutting board. "And then I'll disappear into the forest and live as a hermit where no one can talk to me about color schemes or floral arrangements ever again."
He chuckled, stepping forward to pull her into his arms. "You won't hex the wedding," he murmured into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You'll grit your teeth, smile politely, and do whatever Pansy asks because you're a good friend."
She sighed, leaning into him. "Why did I agree to this?"
"Because, despite everything, you love her," Blaise said with a grin. "And because you can't resist a challenge."
She groaned. "Some challenges. This wedding is going to be the death of me."