Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Got a minute, Zabini?” 

“For you, Prudence, you may have several,” Blaise says grandly and isn’t the least bit surprised to see his boss frown. She’s wearing black robes again - which Blaise can respect, being raised on the traditional robes himself - but some colour may make her look less severe. Despite only being in her forties, Prudence Merriweather takes precautions to be taken seriously as a woman of authority in a very male dominated environment. Her dark hair is always twisted into a severe knot at the back of her head, and something about the ensemble reminds him painfully of Professor McGonagall. 

“My office,” she says, and Blaise hastily removes the tea bag from his mug. He follows her down the hall, past the bullpen, and into her office. He’s not all that surprised when she closes the door behind them. 

“Something wrong?” he asks, because Prudence closing her door means one of two things - top secret information, or you’re about to be hauled over the coals about something. Perhaps if he were Potter or Finnegan, he might be more sure about which one. 

“In a manner of speaking,” she says, dropping down into her chair and indicating that he should take the other one. He does, suddenly wishing he’d left his Celestina Warbeck mug behind in the kitchen. It doesn’t quite fit with Prudence’s sleek, minimalist office. 

“I have a mission for you,” Prudence says, much to his relief. “Very confidential. I can trust that you won’t spread it around.”

“Of course,” Blaise says, sipping his tea and immediately regretting it. He forgot the sugar. “Picture of discretion, me.”

“Indeed,” Prudence says, only raising an eyebrow. She’s definitely spotted the mug. “One of the senior advisors of the Wizengamot stumbled across a small…problem. There’s a certain shop in Diagon Alley that caters to…more adult interests.”

Blaise swallows his mouthful of tea, and it burns a little on the way down. But it was that or spit it across the desk. He always knew that some of those old codgers on the Wizengamot were a lecherous bunch. 

“I see,” he says carefully instead.  

“He was there with a…friend,” Prudence says and only the faint twitch of her lips gave the truth away. Blaise stifles a smile. He’s always liked Prudence. “And they engaged in…activities I thankfully wasn’t made privy to. However, they did make a purchase that proved to be troublesome. What they viewed to be a simple perfume was in fact…more amorous in nature.”

Blaise sputters a little, unsure if he’s intrigued or disgusted by the image. The senior members are all old wizards, fuddy-duddy and traditional as the day is long. He’s no longer sure he wants to know who it was, just in case the image becomes a little clearer. 

“Sex pollen?” Blaise asks, in disbelief. “You’re asking me to investigate some sort of raunchy sex pollen perfume?” Prudence clears her throat, looking briefly uncomfortable.

“Of a fashion,” she says stiffly. “It’s a bestseller, I’m led to believe. Meant to encourage couples to let go of their inhibitions. However, there seems to be a bit of a problem with this latest batch.”

“How so?” Blaise asks with dread. He’s no longer pretending to drink his tea. It’s foul anyway. He feels as though he needs something much stronger and wonders if Bibi in Goblin Liasons is still brewing prune wine in the lower floor bathrooms. 

“It-” Prudence says and then swallows heavily. “Can cause the recipient who inhaled the largest dose to become too amorous. The minister’s paramour was overcome with passion and…bit him.”

“Bit him?” Blaise asks sceptically and then puts his mug down as the implications sink in. “Oh. You don’t mean a love nip, do you?”

“No,” Prudence says, shaking her head. “The minister is currently in hospital, regrowing skin, as is his lady, being treated for whatever she inhaled. There have also been a few other similar reports, all currently being kept very hush hush.”

“What do you want me to do?” Blaise asks and Prudence digs around in her desk for a plain green file. All of the incident files at Auror HQ are colour coded…and despite how Muggles might view green, here it is not a good sign. Green means danger. Green means a skull of smoke lingering in the sky. 

“I need you to go undercover,” she says bluntly. “I need you to take a partner and pretend to be a couple. You must infiltrate this shop and successfully purchase one of these perfumes. It will be tested here to see if the potency has been increased.”

“The perfume has been around for a while, right?” Blaise asks, sitting back in his chair. Prudence nods. “And there’s never been a problem before now. Do you think it might just be a bad batch?”

“Possibly,” Prudence considers, tilting her head. “Or it may be someone looking to cause some damage. I don’t know, which is why you’re going in to find out. On top of retrieving a bottle, you must gather as much intel as possible and discreetly .”

“Of course,” Blaise says, almost offended. “Like I said, I am the picture perfect example.”

“Sure,” Prudence says, looking unimpressed. “And you didn’t tell Pepper about her surprise party before it happened?”

“That was an honest mistake,” Blaise protests, wounded. “I genuinely thought she already knew.”

“Even so,” Prudence says, staring him dead in the eyes. “I’m taking a risk with a younger team. There’s a better chance you can go unnoticed. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blaise says meekly and then, because she hasn’t told him yet, follows it with. “What about my partner?”

“Take Weasley with you,” Prudence says, tapping on the file. “Er…Weasley the Younger.”

“Thank Merlin,” Blaise says dryly. No offence to Ron, but they’d make a terrible couple. “Why didn’t you ask Potter and Malfoy? The actual couple?”

“I considered it,” Prudence says, with just enough exasperation that Blaise knows she has been asked this before. “And very briefly it was too. I can’t trust either of them to go into a sex shop and not cause a ruckus.”

“That’s fair,” Blaise says, especially as he doesn’t want to lose a chance to get out of the Ministry. Desk duty is extremely boring, and he keeps eating all of the muffins in the break room. “And no one’s going to believe those two are in love.”

“Some days I still don’t believe it,” Prudence mutters, rubbing her temples. “I never would have suggested them as a team if I thought it was going to end this way. Let me speak to Weasley first. Then I trust that you both can work out a plan of action?”

“Should be fine,” Blaise says. Ginevra is a fairly new auror, only out of the academy just under six months, but she’s already got a reputation for being clever and tenacious. “I have a question though. Why Ginny?”

“Because she’s so green, you mean?” Prudence says, hitting the nail on the head. Ginny’s an unexpected addition, while the rest of her peers have to go through the rest of the training program. Like anyone else who spent the war in the thick of the fighting, she was fast-tracked, like Potter and Weasley. But it means she’s left partner-less for the time being. “I think she can do it. She’s already shown she’s good at undercover work. She has the nerve and quick thinking for it. And I like her. Can’t hurt to give her a chance at getting a leg up when she’s so behind everyone else. Any complaints?”

“None at all,” Blaise says easily. If he’d had any, he would have said. Taking someone less seasoned into an undercover job like this has risks and he’d speak up if he thought she couldn’t handle it. 

“I know you’re at a bit of a loss while Theron is on leave for Dragon Pox,” Prudence says. “And Ginevra doesn’t have an assigned partner yet. It would be good for you both.”

Blaise takes the file that she offers him, undoubtedly a duplicate. This one will be for his and Ginny’s use while they investigate. 

“I’m just glad to get out of the office,” Blaise says bluntly. It’s been a long few weeks for him, as he’s not permitted to go out alone. And unless it’s a big job, there’s no need for a third auror on missions so he’s been at a loose end. 

“I can trust that you’ll behave maturely on this mission?” Prudence says wearily, before he can slip out of the door. “I know that if I gave it to Weasley Senior or Finnegan, they wouldn’t be able to get one foot in the door without laughing.”

“I’m an adult,” Blaise says firmly. He neatly crosses his fingers from behind the green file cover, just in case he needs to absolve himself later. “I’m sure I can manage one little mission.”

Weasley appears by his desk half an hour later, a dazzling image of flame-red hair and floral scent, even in the awful brown Auror robes. 

“Zabini,” she says shortly and snags a spare chair from the desk behind him. “I hear we’re partners for the time being.”

“So we are,” Blaise says and offers her the biscuit packet. It can’t hurt to offer an olive branch, as the Muggles say. She eyes it suspiciously for a moment, then takes one. Blaise takes one as well and stuffs it into his mouth, just to prove he means nothing by it. 

“Thanks,” she mutters and neatly snaps it in two. “When do you want to head out?”

“No time like the present,” Blaise says, shoving the file towards her. He’d hidden it in another, more innocuous file, to avoid any prying eyes. She stuffs one half of the biscuit in her mouth and reaches out to take it. “I thought we’d make a first trip today. Act like a couple looking to branch out romantically. If we leave without making a purchase, the next time we return, they’ll be desperate to not let us go without making a sale.”

“Good idea,” Ginny says, flicking through the various reports and photos. Blaise had taken a good look himself, hiding away in the meeting rooms to stop any curious interest from the bullpen and to avoid Prudence hearing any laughter from his desk. But Ginny is apparently more restrained, merely wrinkling up her freckled nose as she peruses. 

“We’ll need to glamour ourselves,” Blaise says, as she flicks over a page. “You, ah…may be too noticeable.” Ginny raises an eyebrow. 

“Too recognizable, you mean?” She corrects, as only someone with a chocolate frog card, an order of Merlin, and a former Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies can. She’s been in as many magazines as Potter, if that’s even possible. 

“I do,” Blaise says, because there’s no point dancing around the topic. There are plenty of Aurors who require glamour or Polyjuice for undercover work after the war made sure their faces would be well known to generations of witches and wizards. Even Finnegan has been required to change his face for fear of being recognised. “We’ll need to go to Disguises and Alterations.”

But she just shrugs and closes the file, neatly shrinking it down to stow away in her robes. 

“Agreed,” she says and stuffs the remainder of her biscuit into her mouth. “We don’t need to worry about any anti-glamour wards?”

“I checked already,” Blaise says, because sometimes Polyjuice is more stable and less detectable. “But apparently given the nature of the business, they fully expect patrons to glamour themselves. I hear they get quite a lot of high ranked officials so I can understand why they wouldn’t want to scare anyone off.”

“Wonderful,” she sighs. “Can I have another biscuit? I think I’m going to need it.” Blaise offers her the packet again before shoving them back into his desk. 

“I take it you saw who it was?” he asks and she shoves the entire biscuit into her mouth this time. 

“I’ll never be able to unsee it,” she mutters, from around her mouthful. The pictures in the file had been salacious and embarrassing enough that Blaise can’t blame the higher-ups to try and keep it from leaking. Advisor Cauldwell has an Order of Merlin, Third Class, and a commendation from the Minister…and now apparently a large chunk missing from his left buttock. He may need a cushioning spell if he’s going to sit in on trials. 

“The image sort of sticks with you, doesn’t it?” Blaise muses, as they set off through the bullpen to the elevators. Unless you’re a high ranked Auror in management, like Prudence, or on a specialised team, the bullpen is where young Aurors spend most of their time. You’re assigned whatever cases your senior officer gives you and it’s rare to have a consistent partner until you move up the ranks. Blaise spent a lot of his time after he passed the training program absorbing advice and experience from a multitude of different aurors. He’s spent time with Ron, Seamus, Draco and many more besides. It was only two tears ago that they chose permanent teams.

He likes Theron. He’s slightly older than Blaise, was a few years ahead at Hogwarts. Practical, easy-going, astute…just unfortunate enough to contract Dragon Pox off his niece nearly a month ago. Blaise has spent the last few weeks hoping that he won’t get permanently reassigned to someone else while Theron is on medical leave. Who you get assigned as a permanent partner is a big deal. It can make or break you, but Theron is as ideal as Blaise could hope for. 

After all, Draco ended up with Harry and look at how that turned out. 

Blaise doesn’t mind the bullpen for the most part. It feels like the common room at Hogwarts, or a locker room after a team match. There are case boards and wanted posters scattered over the walls, usually accompanied by a poster or two advertising volunteer opportunities or team games. There’s always a radio playing somewhere, which can barely be heard over the arguments and chatter. The desks are crammed in, often feeling claustrophobic. People decorate their desks as best they can, from Ron’s Chudley Cannons memorabilia to Hamish’s Scottish flag. The chairs often creak, drawers stick and memorably a paper memo flew into a wall light and burst into flames. The scorch mark is still on the ceiling but it’s no worse than the other burns, smears and stains that come part and parcel with being an auror. 

In a few more years, he and Theron may move up, get given one of the offices. In that case much more care is taken - when you’ve been promoted up, no one wants to make a mess of the smarter two-person offices for fear of it being taken away. And when you get to Prudence’s level, you have a space all your own. But for now, they have to pay their dues and that means mucking in with everyone else. 

The board that hangs in the entrance hall looks like a scoreboard, but instead of team names and scores, it bears every aurors’ name. It’s designed to track their locations and as they pass by, Blaise watches the little dials under ‘ Zabini ’ and ‘ Weasley ’ twist around to ‘ Away. ’

They take the elevator down a floor to Alterations and wait to be seen. They’re finally retrieved by a witch in navy robes and wire frames, who listens to their request before ushering them behind a curtain. 

“Hold still,” she instructs, pulling out her wand. “This may tingle.” 

Blaise, who has been under glamor before, braces himself.

“You’re done,” the witch announces finally. “Take a look.” Blaise opens his eyes and finds a strange vision in the mirror. He looks enough like himself that the whole effect is rather odd. The colour of his eyes and shape of his mouth remains the same but she’s cleverly changed his nose and jaw enough that he doubts even his mother would immediately recognise him in the street. His hair has even grown, far thicker than he would ever dream of having. Any longer and curlier and it would look like Potter’s mop. 

As for Ginny, with her more well known face, she’s undergone a more dramatic transformation. Her freckles have gone, and her eyes are now a forest green instead of the bright Weasley blue. Her mouth is smaller, more rosebud-shaped, and her nose is long and thin. Ginny blinks at her reflection and brushes a hand through her new golden hair. 

“How odd,” she says, shaking her head. “At least I still feel the same.” 

“You know the rules,” the witch says crisply. “No amendments or alterations. See Rochelle at the front desk if you need to use this glamour more than once. You can dispel your own glamour when you’re done, but you know the rules about casting your own in the field!”

“No fear,” Ginny says, plucking at her new baby blue robes. “I was never very good at glamours.” 

The stop at the front desk is the most tedious, as the witch there is required to take pictures and make a note of every detail about their changed appearances. It’s no good to be on an ongoing undercover assignment and find that your nose looks dramatically different one day to the next. 

“You’re all done,” the witch says finally and shoves two pieces of parchment across to them over the desk. “Sign and initial at the bottom. Go to Requisitions for anything further.”

“We’ll need Galleons,” Ginny sighs, scrawling her name hastily. “Perhaps wedding rings. Merlin, why is undercover work such a trial?”

But Requisitions is a breeze, as Blaise knows one of the wizards there. They’re ushered through, given suitable wedding bands, enough Galleons to cover the purchase and fake identification, just in case their identities need proving. 

“I don’t want a repeat of the Salamander incident, Zabini,” the tired looking wizard says wearily, pushing a bag of Galleons into Blaise’s hand. Blaise merely grins sheepishly. 

“I was never instructed how much to buy,” he says stiffly, because Ginny is looking at him curiously. The wizard just shakes his head. 

“Receipts and change,” he says firmly. “Now get out.”

“What was that about?” Ginny asks, as they stroll towards the elevators again, intent on taking the Floo to Diagon Alley. 

“Orson is unfairly maligning my character,” Blaise says haughtily and jabs at the button. 

They arrive in a swirl of green flames at the Leaky Cauldron and Blaise feels a rush of satisfaction when Tom glances their way with not even a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. They push out into the street, into a crisp autumn day, completely unnoticed. Ginny raises her nose, sniffing appreciatively. 

“Pumpkin cakes,” she sighs, as they pass a stall on the street selling fresh treats. “And I missed lunch.”

“Maybe we can get one after,” Blaise suggests, because the fresh cinnamon smell has also caught his interest. “No one will know.”

“I’m beginning to see why Orson doesn’t trust you with Ministry money,” Ginny says wryly. “Is that a Slytherin thing?”

“Flouting the rules or spending someone else’s money?” Blaise asks, as they cross over the cobblestones. The shop in question resides in Carkitt Market, tucked away in a discreet corner. “Neither. If you met my mother you’d understand.”

“I won’t ask to meet your mother, if you never ask to meet mine,” Ginny says, but Blaise has seen her fearsome terror of a mother before. He has no desire to personally meet the woman that raised Ginevra. Some apples don’t fall far from the tree. 

They stop just out of sight from the shop front, pretending as though they are any anxious couple looking to broaden their interests. Ginny keeps a careful eye on the door from over Blaise’s shoulder as they talk. It’s a discreet entrance - no shop window, no hearts or phallic symbols to identify it as a sex shop. There’s just a well maintained door, with an elegant little stamp on the letterbox - AAA . Amora’s Adventurous Acquisitions. 

“Well, I wouldn’t expect it to have a stream of people going in and out,” Blaise says, when Ginny gives the all clear. “Alright, we are Peregrine and Margot Greer, and we want to spice up our sex life. We’ve been married for two years…that seems like the right time for the magic to fade.”

“If you were married to me, you wouldn’t worry about the magic fading,” Ginny says archly and flicks her hair. “How do we do this? Go in holding hands or…?”

“Sounds reasonable,” Blaise agrees. “That feels most convincing.”

It’s been a long time since he did anything so intimate as holding someone’s hand and he’s a little surprised by how easily Ginny holds out her arm. He takes her hand, letting her link her fingers with his. It feels more natural than he expected, the warmth of her skin against his, soft and smooth. 

Ginny seems to think nothing of it, merely staring across at the front door with determination on her face. But then again, the Weasleys are nothing like the Zabinis, where physical affection was measured out precisely, with very little to spare. 

“Here we go,” Ginny says, and tugs Blaise along with her before he has any time to think. 

The door admits them into a dimly lit hallway. Ginny stares up at the tasseled lampshade, and then down at the neatly polished floorboards. 

“This looks like a brothel,” she says darkly, and Blaise is one to agree. The soft glow of the pink lighting, combined with the patterned wallpaper does suggest that perhaps you are leaving here with a happy ending or two. 

There’s another door at the end and it doesn’t turn when Blaise tries the handle. 

“Doorbell,” Ginny says, gesturing to the previously unnoticed button with her spare hand. Blaise shakes his head and presses it, flinching a little as a harsh sound follows it. 

“They certainly take safety precautions,” he mutters, hoping that they aren’t being watched. Ginny warily flicks her eyes around, as though she suspects the same. 

“I wonder why,” she says, before there’s the sound of a lock turning. 

The door opens to reveal a middle-aged witch, with grey-blonde hair curling gently over her shoulders. She beams sweetly at them, but Blaise doesn’t miss the wand-holster hidden just under her robe sleeve. She also doesn’t fully open the door, blocking the gap with her body. The pink glow doesn’t stop in the shop itself, Blaise is interested to discover. If anything the light is a little pinker and more intense than the hallway. 

“Hello,” she says, immediately taking in their joined hands. “Have you come looking for something specific?”

“We were looking to…add a little something to our bedroom,” Ginny says, in a strangely high, unnatural voice. A voice is the only thing that can’t be masked by a glamour. “We heard that this was the place for that?” The witch beams even wider and opens the door just a little bit more. Clearly, she’s deemed that they aren’t a threat. 

“This is the place,” the witch says, winking conspiratorially. “We offer a variety of toys, games and products for any witch, wizard, or other looking to enjoy themselves solo or with a partner. Do come in.”

She steps back and Blaise blinks out of instinct against the brightness that immediately assaults his senses. 

It’s pink. He’s not sure what else he expected. There are shelves upon shelves of items, many of them penis-shaped, and a large quantity of them also pink, or red. There’s a grand chandelier, glittering in the light and bathing the space in a warm glow. The walls bear the kind of artwork that Blaise would expect, each one slightly suggestive and sensual, including a large one of a young blonde woman, wearing a strategically draped scarf. Hanging over the counter there are several posters, each one advertising a brand that they must carry in the shop. A witch in ‘Sneakeasy underwear’ poses on a bed in black panties, pressing a long finger against her blood red lips. A scantily dressed man is wearing a similar pair on another poster, arms stretched out behind his head while he looks down through half closed lids. There’s another witch, with cascading dark hair lounging in a thick bubble bath, her hair spilling across the lavender coloured foam. It reminds Blaise of the prefect bathroom, the multicoloured suds that would flow from every tap. 

“My name is Rose,” the witch says, gesturing across the shop. “Were you referred to us?”

“We were,” Blaise says, pitching his voice lower than normal. Rose just nods in understanding. 

“That’s how we get most of our customers,” she says, tapping her nose. “We don’t advertise openly. There’s too many people who disagree with the business! But as we always say, there’s room for magic everywhere, even in the bedroom. Would you like a tour?”

“We would,” Ginny says promptly, before Blaise can protest they’d like to browse by themselves. “That would be wonderful.”

Blaise catches her eye behind Rose’s back and she just winks. She clearly has a plan in mind. 

“You’ll find our range of toys in aisles one through three,” Rose says, setting off towards the shelves closest to them. “This is everything from dildos to strap-ons, all with a variety of charms and enchantments. We have magically linked toys for the long-distance couple, the ‘Blow a Kiss’ range and the Sneakeasy underwear range for someone who needs a more…discreet method of personal care.”

“I’ve heard of those,” Ginny says, peering at the box. “They’re supposed to feel very realistic.” Rose beams. 

“One of our best sellers,” she says, looking delighted. “”We have options for male and female underwear, with the sensation of…whichever pair of genitals you desire. Handy for those with interfering roommates or nosy mothers!”

It takes Blaise a minute to understand and he can’t stop the startled flush that rises up his cheeks when he understands exactly what it would feel like. No wonder the models in the posters look so…pleased with themselves. 

“These probably also have some uses for couples,” Ginny muses and Blaise gives her a startled glance. They’re meant to be playing the part of a couple just branching out and she’s acting far too knowledgeable. It leads to a train of thought that is both interesting and a little startling, especially while she’s wearing that wide-eyed, blonde glamour. 

“Oh, they are,” Rose says, with a cheeky grin that is startling on a woman that could be Blaise’s mother. “Very ideal for someone just starting out, I’d say. They also sell extremely well with the more…exhibitionist of our customers.”

Blaise tries to imagine wearing one of these out in public and promptly short circuits. 

“Breathe,” Ginny murmurs under her breath and takes his arm as they follow Rose down the aisle. And Blaise tries to, even while surrounded by penises, in every shape, colour and size. 

But it seems as though Rose is intent on giving them a very thorough tour. They’re led through a range of sensual oils and lotions - self-warming, tingling, with an aphrodisiac or lubricating properties. There are hallucinogenic bubble baths, that allow you to fully engage in a fantasy while masturbating, and others that stimulate your erogenous zones while you bathe. 

The sex toys take up the largest amount of space, fake genitals in every size, shape and colour. Rose shows them the ‘Tenta-cock,’ the ‘Broomstick,’ the ‘Unicorn,’ and the ‘Ridged Hornback’. They vibrate, they tremble, they can magically thrust themselves. Some are even capable of realistic secretions, should the user desire something more like the real thing. There are sleeves and fake dildos that can be enchanted, so if your partner is miles away they can still…arouse you. There are cock rings, with an amazing amount of possible tricks and effects, and even a large replica of human bottoms, one pert and female, and another larger and more muscled. 

There’s magical handcuffs and ties that can bind or release someone with a pre-set trigger word. They’re led by bed straps, door straps, hog-ties, restraints and spreader bars. Blaise spots a selection of whips and paddles that can be enchanted to work by themselves and blindfolds that close off all of your senses, except for touch. A large portion of the back wall is dedicated to just furniture, a variety of chairs, swings, and cushions for any position you could think of. Ginny pauses to eye a door strap that hoists you upside down, similar to a Levicorpus spell, and Blaise has to hurriedly move her on. 

The range of treats take up an entire wall, covering everything from phallic or breast shaped gummies or chocolates, to ones with more useful properties. There’s a chew that allows you to go for longer without needing to take a breath, mints that cool your mouth, and another that produces a realistic fizzing sensation. There’s another sweet you can eat that will give you a rather deep vibrating hum for up to an hour.  Most interestingly, there’s a strange looking green sucking candy that will prevent you from needing to come up for air. This time Ginny catches Blaise lingering by the shelf and smirks at him until he slinks away. 

There are books and magazines galore, covering anything from how-tos and instructions to more lewd material meant to be read by yourself or with a partner. The witch on the cover of ‘ Sexy Seekers ’ suggestively cups her bare breasts and blows him a kiss as they pass by. 

“Coping?” Ginny mutters and Blaise gives himself a good shake. He’s an auror on a mission and he shouldn’t be getting distracted by a strawberry blonde wearing a cape and Quidditch boots and not much else. It does remind him that he’s in something of a dry spell, much to his chagrin. All of this seems a little overwhelming, but he’s not afraid to admit that using some of this with a partner might be…well, fun . 

“And this is our beauty section,” Rose says, finally coming to a stop. Thank Merlin - Blaise feels as though he’s seen everything in the shop, except for whatever the witch on the poster keeps teasing is under her lacy black knickers. “This is our glamour range - it can change your appearance subtly for roleplay and we do have matching outfits! The Succubus lipstick line also comes with a variety of effects. They’re very cleverly made and sometimes we get to take one home for product testing.”

Ginny not so subtly jabs him in the ribs and he follows her eyes to the bright pink bottles sitting innocuously on the shelf. 

“And these are our costumes,” Rose continues, apparently not noticing their brief silent exchange. She’s standing by a tall rack at the end of the shelves, various outfits hung neatly in a variety of sizes. Blaise spots a few Quidditch outfits, a naughty set of Healer’s robes, a fake ‘Mistress of Magic’ set, as well as a sexy mermaid ensemble. “Also marvelous for beginners.”

She’s clearly not going to draw their attention to the perfume, so Ginny does it for her, reaching out and plucking a gleaming pink bottle from the shelf. 

“Oh, that’s very popular,” Rose says at once. Ginny turns the bottle over in her hands, studying the swirling pink script. 

“Craving,” she reads. “‘Enhance your desire with just one spritz.’ What does it do?”

“It’s very clever,” Rose says, as Ginny shakes the bottle up against the light. To any casual observer, she just looks as though she’s admiring the pink sparkles, when really she’s studying the properties of it. “It’s an aphrodisiac in a bottle. One little squirt in the sheets and you’ll have the best night of your lives!”

“Really,” Ginny says flatly and places the bottle back on the shelf. “Seems a little tame compared to some of the other items we’ve seen here.”

“There’s more to it than that, I promise you,” Rose says immediately. “We have so many repeat customers for this and they all swear it’s a game changer. We developed it in-house and it’s the only one of its kind on the market right now.”

“I like some of the toys,” Ginny says, tugging on Blaise’s arm. She’s showing no more interest in the perfume, which is the smart move. “What do you think?”

“We can look at those if you like,” Blaise says. They need to linger a little bit more, so he’s happy to play the part. 

“Do you need help?” Rose offers, gesturing with a hand. “Or if you prefer to talk among yourselves, I’ll just be by the cash register if you need me.”

“We’ll have a look around,”  Ginny says with a polite smile. She still has her arm through Blaise’s, acting like the loving couple they’re meant to be. “Thank you.”

“How does she not go blind working in here?” Blaise mutters, following Ginny deeper into the shop. Rose has vanished back to the front, to help out with people wanting to pay. Blaise clocks the subtle difference in her robes compared to the other assistants, the little pin on her collar. She’s either the manager or the owner. Amora is probably just a pseudonym used for the shop name. “I feel like I’ve just stepped into a vagina.”

“Do you remember Umbridge’s office?” Ginny muses, looking around with far more interest than he is. There’s a very phallic shaped water fountain in the centre of the store that occasionally spits out glossy pink bubbles from the tip. 

“I sincerely hope you’re not about to suggest that this looks like Umbridge’s vagina,” Blaise says and Ginny snorts loudly. 

“No, but glad to know that’s where your mind went,” she says dryly. “I was thinking of just her office actually.”

“Less cats, thank Merlin,” Blaise says, as a bubble pops right in front of his nose. The thick, sweet scent that immediately floods his senses makes him sneeze. 

“Are you okay?” Ginny asks, looking startled. Blaise resists the urge to rub his nose, still tingling, and instead pulls her along to the nearest shelf. He promptly regrets it, because the neat rows of black boxes are not in fact, filled with wands - at least, not in the traditional sense. 

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asks in bemusement, picking up a model off the shelf. The product in question is heftier looking than your average penis and an off-putting shade of lavender. “The Sensual Wand 2000 giving you problems?”

“No,” Blaise mutters, even though it is giving him something of an itch. Purebloods are always taught that sex is meant for under the covers, lights off, and to create little heirs specifically. He’s pushed past a lot of that, but to his chagrin there’s still a little burst of shame that always creeps up on him in places like this. “It’s the Kraken that’s making me flinch.”

“Kraken- cock ,” Ginny corrects, waving the box at him. It’s even shaped like a tentacle to his horror. What was so wrong with the classic dick shape? “There’s also ‘Wizard’s Naughty Little Wand’ and the ‘Heaving Beast.’ Product development here must be wild .” 

“That’s the bit that interests me,” Blaise says, ducking his head next to hers. There’s no one standing nearby but he doesn’t want to risk being overheard. “Some of these products are from other companies and are only stocked here. This might not be so easy, if it was made off-site.”

“It’s not,” Ginny says and picks up a bottle of lube from the shelf. It’s a glittery blue and promises a cooling sensation, not exactly something that Blaise has ever worried about during sex. But instead she tips the bottle over and gestures to the logo stamped onto the base. 

“ Afternoon Delight ,” she says. “I saw the same brand name on the door in the hallway. It’s on some of the products, like the perfume and some of the beauty products. It’s all made here.”

“Clever,” Blaise says admiringly. She’s observant - Blaise had been too dazzled by the terrifying hallway to notice something so small. 

“It confirms a lot of what I thought,” she continues, letting Blaise take the bottle from her to study it. “Anything potion based they make in-house.” Which likely means that they have someone on staff particularly gifted in that respect. It also makes a lot of sense. Anything else requires more space and supplies. Making a few perfumes and body lotions requires a few cauldrons and the appropriate decanting and labelling equipment. Blaise has busted illegal potion operations out of dingy backrooms before. 

“We might be too late and they’ve cleared the shelves of the tainted product anyway,” Blaise muses and judging by the way Ginny wrinkles up her nose, this thought has occurred to her too. 

“Then this mission won’t be as easy as we thought,” she says simply. 

Chapter Text

They stop for pumpkin cakes and coffee. 

“Thank Merlin,” Ginny says, the moment that Blaise puts the tray down onto their table. She’s had to fight for a space in the crowded cafe, defending it with a rapid intensity of a Chaser protecting the Quaffle while Blaise went to order. “I’m starving.” 

“I may never eat again,” Blaise says darkly, reaching for his cappuccino. Ginny grins, her mouth full with a large bite of cake. It clearly hasn’t affected her appetite. They’d seen a famous singer, two Quidditch players and Tam Brightree from the Wizarding Wireless. No wonder the shop went so under the radar - it was hardly a door you’d knock on unless you knew what was there. Ginny had watched Nicholas Morelock from the Badsey Banshees pick up a pair of self-adjusting bed straps with wide eyes and exclaimed that half of the league must shop here. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so squeamish,” she says, in amusement and wipes chocolate from her fingers. “Most of the lads in the bullpen are all the same.”

“I’m not a prude,” Blaise says defensively. He has a good sex drive and a natural curiosity. He’s good-looking, and he knows it. He’s never been a stranger to sex. “I just…didn’t expect some of that stuff to be so…adventurous.”

“They’re pretty creative,” Ginny agrees, but her tone is more impressed than confused. “I think it’s ingenious. Why not use spells for that kind of thing?”

“It’s just not what I was taught,” Blaise sighs heavily. Draco and Pansy went through it too, the stiff, closed off aspect of their upbringing. It clearly wasn’t effective, judging by the three of them - the vamp, the homosexual, and the playboy. “Sex education was very limited and factual when I was a child. It took the Hogwarts dorms for me to figure out that it could be fun.”

“I don’t think that the Founders considered that when they put in mixed dorms,” Ginny says with a smirk. She clearly had a similar experience, which is no surprise. She was pretty popular in school if he recalls, although he’s not willing to picture her and Harry. “But I don’t think we had similar experiences. I’m one of seven kids, remember?”

“I hadn’t,” Blaise admits. He sees Ron and Ginny so much that he’d actually kind of forgotten there were more of them. “Was that good growing up?” Ginny shrugs, turning her face towards the street. They’re in the window, allowing them to watch the people on Diagon Alley stroll by. 

“Sometimes,” she says. “I was the only girl and the baby…I think they resented me sometimes. But they were also good to have. They might have given me shit but they looked out for me. Still do.”

“What did Ron think about you being an auror?” Blaise asks. As far as he knows, none of the other Weasleys chose a career like it. Perhaps Ron was annoyed Ginny followed him to the Ministry after all. 

“He was pretty good about it,” Ginny says, tilting her head. “I thought he might have been against it…but I don’t think he could really, after the war. Our mum was pretty unhappy though. But Charlie works with dragons and Bill’s a curse breaker. But, well…”

“You’re the youngest,” Blaise fills in. “My mother didn’t care for it either, but probably for very different reasons. It’s not what young wizards do in our family. I think she’d prefer if I had some office job somewhere in the Ministry. Magical Games and Sports, or International Magical Cooperation would do.”

“My dad works in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts,” Ginny says, which is enough to bring to mind a tall, jovial man with the same flame-red hair as his children. “He didn’t mind us being aurors though. But why did you become an auror? I wouldn’t have expected it from you in school.”

“I suppose I get bored easily,” Blaise says. Outside in the street, he catches sight of Astoria Greengrass passing by, a shopping bag swinging from her hand. She doesn’t turn her head, but she wouldn’t recognise him even if she did. 

“I was good at quite a lot in school,” he continues, and when he turns his head around he catches Ginny watching him with a strange expression. It vanishes when he continues speaking. “The idea of just sitting behind a desk was awful. My mother wanted me to be a diplomat, a banker at Gringotts, a Healer…anything but this. She keeps promising to leave me out of the will.”

“Would she?” Ginny asks curiously, hands around the remains of her latte. 

“Probably not,” Blaise says with a grin. “I’m her favourite.”

There’s silence where they sip companionably. This certainly isn’t a sanctioned break exactly but Blaise isn’t going to tell, and Ginny won’t either. With their glamours still on, no one who knows them can recognise them and the only people who might are a few people back at the Ministry who saw them this morning. 

“What is wrong with your mother?” Ginny asks suddenly. Diagon Alley is still bustling at this time of day, still busy after the lunch rush as everyone who stopped to buy stew or a pasty took the opportunity for a little shopping. People keep eyeing their table but Blaise refuses to be rushed out. “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen her.”

“She’s been widowed seven times,” Blaise says, bluntly. Thankfully seven husbands did not equal multiple offspring. He has enough to contend with a brother and half-sister, thank you very much. “Even I’m not convinced that they were all of natural causes.”

“Of course,” Ginny says dryly and then pops the last of her cake in her mouth. 

“I hope not to be like that if I marry,” Blaise says with a shudder and then, because he can see her hopeful expression, pushes the last of his cake towards her. She takes it, looking surprised but pleased. 

“Me either,” Ginny says. “But my parents have always been in love. I suppose I have high standards.”

“I have a standard,” Blaise says, watching her eat with gusto. “Don’t get drowned. Or accidentally blown up. Or conveniently poisoned with Venomous Tentacula nettles.”

“Or bitten? Ginny suggests cheekily, having polished off the remainder of the slab of cake in record time. Blaise reflects her smirk back to her. 

“Or bitten,” he agrees. “Maybe a problem for my mother’s next husband. Shall we go?”

“I suppose,” Ginny says reluctantly and angles her face towards the sun. “I do hate not having a partner sometimes. Unless someone takes pity on me, I’m trapped in the bullpen. I miss the sky.”

She was built for it, Blaise thinks, watching her rosy cheeks in the light, how it ripples through her hair. Even wearing someone else’s face she seems fueled by it, like a cat that thrives on the sunbeams. She must miss being on the pitch and, not for the first time, Blaise wonders the reason for her sudden and unexpected career change. 

“Well, you’re with me this week,” he says finally. “You’ll get out of the office plenty. But first, we need to make a report to Prudence.”

“Progress report?” Prudence says, when they reappear at her office at the end of the day. Ginny, gloriously red-headed once again, clears her throat.

“Establishment seems to be reasonable and legitimate,” she says in a crisp, clear voice. “Preliminary visit shows expected safety precautions and health standards. We didn’t get a look at any back rooms or development and testing facilities but so far everything seems above board.” Prudence purses her lips. 

“As expected,” she says heavily. She looks tired, and even more burdened than she had in this very office only this morning. Blaise can only imagine the kind of pressure she’s put under from higher ups, with a senior member of the ministry involved. “As all of their permits and taxes seem to be in order, it was unlikely this was just some nefarious scheme that popped up out of nowhere.”

“Which means that this is an accident or likely a lone individual,” Blaise finishes. He and Ginny had discussed it at length on their way back to the Ministry. 

“Yes,” Prudence says thoughtfully, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Do you think there’s much possibility of Advisor Cauldwell being targeted?” Blaise and Ginny share a small look. 

“Perhaps,” Ginny says carefully. The thing about being an auror is that you have to think about every word, every action, because sometimes when you put something out into the universe, there’s no taking it back. One of the first things that they teach you at the academy is that you don’t speculate out loud. “We haven’t ruled it out yet but I also wouldn’t expect it to be the cause.”

“I see,” Prudence says, after a beat. She’s probably as aware as they are that any whisper of a targeted plot will take off like wildfire. Even several years after the war, the unease hasn’t quite faded from public memory. “Very well. When do you return?”

“Tomorrow,” Ginny says promptly. “We considered waiting another day but we can’t risk waiting for the company to make a cover up.”

“If they even know what’s happening,” Prudence muses. “If it is a lone individual, I doubt it would be so easy for them to act.”

But Ginny's shoulders slump when they emerge back out into the halfway. 

“She doesn't exactly sound reassured that we can solve it,” she groans. Blaine looks at the closed door. True, Prudence could have given this to a much more senior auror team but chances are, there's really no cause for it. In the grand scheme of things, an aphrodisiac that went awry is the least of the ministry's troubles. There’s still so much cleanup to do - lingering rebellious factions, pockets of the old guard who don’t want to make way for the new way of thinking. 

But because it involves a senior advisor, it still needs to be solved discreetly. In that case, who better than a rookie and a more experienced auror currently on the bench?

“I think she expects us to,” Blaise says, because he's had far longer working under Prudence. She doesn't suffer fools, and she’d never give them the task if she thought that they couldn’t handle it. “I just don't think she expects us to find a grand scheme out of it.”

“Neither do I,” Ginny confesses, as they start strolling back to the bullpen. “I think after the war, we're not about to be taken down by a perfume. Not unless they start pumping it in through the vents. Personally, I just think that whatever dumb golddigger that Cauldwell has these days just overdosed on the stuff…” Her voice trails off, distracted by the raucous noise coming from the bullpen. Normally that kind of noise only occurs on someone's birthday, or if Seamus has blown up the kettle again. 

“Prudence isn't dead, you know,” Ginny says, scowling at her brother, who seems to be front and centre. Ron, tall and lean, just grins at his sister, unbothered. And while the Weasleys as a whole seem to be noisy and unrestrained, Blaise does have to commend them on their sharp minds. He's worked with Ron before and apparently it extends to more than just chess and gobstones. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron says, goodnaturedly. He's right in the thick of it, surrounded by a host of their peers, from Serena hanging off her desk to Harry, just barely hiding his mirth. 

“What?” Ginny asks suspiciously and Seamus leans over to tilt her chin up with a finger. Blaise follows it upwards as well, to the cloud of bright pink bouncing against the ceiling.

“Is that a pygmy puff?” Ginny asks, looking scandalized. The pygmy puff bumps against a wall sconce, looking no worse for wear.

“Confiscated it,” Ron says, grinning up at the creature. “There's some sort of charm on it. Haven't quite managed to undo it yet.”

"How hard have you tried?” Ginny asks scathingly, folding her arms across her chest. Ron holds up his hands in defense. 

“Not my fault!” he protests. “Honestly. Some kid was using it as a balloon. I had visions of it drifting away into the ether so I brought it back here. I tried the Curse Removal department but apparently magical creatures are not their remit. Thought I might try Luna.” 

“I hope so,” Ginny says, scowling around at the assembled Aurors until they sheepishly slink back to their desks. Harry just raises his eyebrows at his former girlfriend. 

“There's no harm, Gin,” he tries, even though anyone with eyes can see that Ginny will not be swayed. He can admire her for that - there’s no use in distressing a helpless creature for amusement, whether they caused it’s current predicament or not. “It’s fine up there.” 

But Ginny is having none of it and draws her wand to summon the poor pygmy down. It coos happily in her arms, even though she has to keep a tight grip on it. 

“I’m finished for the day so I’ll take it to Luna,” she says firmly, tucking the pygmy puff safely down her robes. “Don’t scowl at me, Ron, or I’ll tell Hermione.”

With that, she disappears from the room, robes whipping around the corner behind her as she heads for the elevators. 

“I’m in the shit,” Ron says, rubbing his neck. “Between her, Luna, and Hermione I can’t get away with anything.”

“And your mother,” Harry points out, spinning on his chair. “Don’t forget her.”

“I never do,” Ron says weakly and then groans. “Damn. I still have to finish my paperwork. The pygmy puff distracted me from this stupid smuggling operation.”

“Is she always like that?” Blaise asks curiously, still thinking about the determined set of Ginny’s jaw. Despite the moaning from the other Aurors, she’d stood her ground and pulled the pygmy puff down. 

“Usually,” Ron says, throwing himself down at his desk. “Animals particularly. I always thought that’s why she and Luna got on. But she had a soft spot for wounded and vulnerable things even as a little kid. You should have seen her shout at Fred and George when they trapped a pixie in a jam jar.”

“Huh,” Blaise says distantly, mind no longer in the room. Harry and Ron are trading stories about Ginny, who is famous for a raging hot temper as bright as her hair. But it seems that it’s only ever used for a good reason, an interesting fact about Blaise’s new partner. 

“Are you coming?” Draco asks, appearing from the corridor. He’s apparently been in one of the meeting rooms, studying evidence, and he shoves a few files into a desk drawer. Blaise just blinks at him in confusion before remembering. 

“Drinks,” he says finally, once Draco has stood and stared pointedly at him for a moment. Their usual Friday night drinks got bumped a few days, because Draco was working late. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t wait up for me,” Draco tells Harry, fingers brushing against the soft hair at the nape of Potter’s neck. It’s as intimate as they get while they’re at work, but that feels like nothing when Harry tilts his head up and smiles at Draco in a way that can only be called besotted. 

It’s still weird. But even so, something about their easy and obvious affection for one another makes Blaise miss being in a relationship. 

“I can wait up if you make it worth my while,” Harry says in a low voice…just not quite low enough because Ron throws his quill down in disgust. 

“It’s bad enough I have forms to do,” he says. “I don’t need you making googly eyes at each other. Get out.” 

There’s a crush at the Twisted Elixir the next night and Blaise has to squeeze his way through the crowd to reach their table. He gets an elbow to his ribs for his trouble and he has to find his footing to avoid the glasses in his hands sloshing over. There are too many brightly coloured liquids for him to risk even spilling a drop. When they first started coming here, he’d been a bit put out to find that a Bogden’s or even a Butterbeer weren’t even on the menu, but he'd come around to their strange array of bright and tasty cocktails. Even if the names are sometimes off-putting. 

“Someone else can go for the next round,” he says, placing the tray of drinks down onto the table. Pansy reaches for her cocktail, looking unapologetic. 

“Sorry, darling,” she says, because she’d deftly volunteered Blaise when all of their glasses were empty. “I cannot have anyone crease this dress.”

“Unless it’s on someone’s bedroom floor you mean?” Theo points out and smirks when she sticks out her tongue. He reaches for his glass of Humped Erumpent , squinting at the tiny marshmallow bubbles. 

“I’m not the slut here,” Pansy says primly. “Not unless he has the right amount of money anyway.”

“Of course not,” Draco says dryly, lounging against the wall of their booth. Much like Blaise, he hasn’t changed from the day, their auror robes standing out like a beacon in the late night crowd. “We must have standards.”

“You put out on your first date with Potter,” she says pointedly. “I know you did.” Draco just shrugs. 

“I’m not looking for a rich husband,” he says archly and Theo snorts loudly. 

“Think you’ve got one anyway,” he says, because Potter doesn’t have insignificant funds. Not quite Malfoy money but certainly close. “Maybe that’s the way, Pan. Put out so well he’ll have to marry you.”

“I’m not marrying Harry,” Draco says, looking slightly exasperated. “And I doubt it happened quite like that .”

Blaise sips his drink, choosing to stay quiet. It had, in fact, happened something like that. The tension that had been building between Draco and Harry had exploded rather spectacularly once they had gotten together. Several months of longing had needed an outlet and quickly. 

“Magic cock,” Theo mutters into his drink. “Or magic arse?”

“Can we not?” Draco asks, sounding pained, because the people in the booth next to them are starting to take an interest over their pumpkin daiquiris. 

“Yes, let’s not,” Blaise says, taking pity on Draco. His pale ears are starting to turn a furious shade of pink. “I can do without images of Potter’s pasty arse, ta very much. Or Draco’s for that matter.”

He’s seen Draco’s arse - hazards of sharing a dorm for six years. It’s perfectly reasonable, it just doesn’t particularly appeal to him. 

“I think your drink looks better than mine,” Pansy says, studying Blaise’s glittery purple concoction. Blaise pulls it back along the table before she can steal a sip. 

“Your fault for going for the Flying Sidecar rather than the Hex on the Beach ,” he says, because he’s had the Sidecar before and it tastes a little too blue for his liking. “What did Draco get?” 

“We have got to stop doing cocktail roulette,” Draco mutters and studies his glass. “Brandy Flamel, I think.”

“Why, when we could go to a more reasonable establishment where you get to choose your own, sensibly named drinks?” Theo asks, with just enough of a glitter in his eye that Blaise knows he’s kidding. 

“You were not the one to end up with a Chinese Fireball ,” Draco insists. “Drink that and then a gallon of milk, and get back to me.”

This is the problem - Twisted Elixir doesn’t exactly function as a regular bar. You go to the bar and order more drinks. You do not get to decide which ones. For the most part, the end result is delicious and interesting to look at. On occasion, it’s the equivalent of getting the snot flavoured jelly bean.

“So long as there's liquor, I honestly don't care what I drink,” Blaise says vehemently. He's dealt with some tough cases - violent hexes, strange drugs, some truly terrifying hate crimes after the war - but nothing will be seared into his brain quite like the kraken-cock.

“Rough day, Blaise?” Draco asks curiously. “Your desk was empty most of the day. Not to mention you were pulled into Prudence’s office first thing this morning.”

“Me?” Blaise says, not at all surprised that Draco noticed. “No, Prudence gave me a mission with Weasley.”

“Girl Weasley or Boy Weasley?” Pansy asks, playing with the stem of her glass. Her Flying Sidecar is a wonderful sky blue, with shimmers of gold that ripple through it like sunlight. 

“Girl Weasley,” Blaise says, wondering if he should start insisting on the use of Ginny and Ron. But in the office, last names are standard, unless you’re particularly close. Or, unless you're Harry and Draco, where last names appear to play a part in a bizarre ritual of foreplay. 

“Hmm,” Pansy says thoughtfully, studying Blaise carefully. “Pretty girl, that one.”

“Yes,” Theo says brightly and turns in his seat. “Thoughts on that, Draco?” 

“Don’t,” Draco says warningly. There's an unusual tightness around his mouth, and Blaise always has to wonder if even the great Draco Malfoy isn't immune to having ugly emotions, such as jealousy. “I’m not having an opinion on my lover’s former paramour.”

“She’s a good partner,” Blaise says, because apparently riling Draco up is the amusement of the evening. “I’ve not worked with her before.”

“What are you working on?” Draco asks, raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t see an assignment on the board.”

“Top secret,” Blaise says and taps his nose. It's not exactly terrorism - they think - but some professional discretion is required. Especially in front of Pansy, who he'd almost place bets on being a customer of the establishment. And if she’s not, he can recommend it to her after. “Handed to us by Prudence herself.”

“My, my,” Draco says, archly. He looks unimpressed, perhaps accurately interpreting what such a request actually means. “Hand selected. Whatever did you do to earn that privilege?”

“I think Prudence hoped we’d handle the matter discreetly and with a certain degree of maturity,” Blaise says, because the more he thinks about it, the more he and Weasley look like the best options. He can’t imagine Potter or Finnegan stepping into Amora's Acquisitions without laughing their heads off. And that’s without considering what might happen should they ever encounter Senior Advisor Cauldwell in the halls. Even Blaise isn’t quite sure how he’ll cope when the gentleman returns to work.

“Ooh,” Pansy coos, eagerly sitting forward in her seat. “That sounds like something interesting.”

“No,” Blaise says firmly. “I like my job. And I know you, it will be spread all over Gringotts before noon.” Pansy sits back in her seat, pouting slightly. 

“I’m not that much of a blabbermouth,” she says, slightly sulkily. Draco purses his lips. 

“Harry might have a different opinion on that front,” he points out. Blaise and Theo both sit back in their seats, far out of the firing line. Harry has never quite forgiven Pansy for her eagerness to hand him over to the Dark Lord in their seventh year.

“I wasn’t about to die for him,” Pansy insists and drains her glass. “And neither were you, Draco, darling.”

“Let’s not,” Blaise cuts in deftly, before it can devolve into a cat fight. Most days, Pansy and Draco are the best of friends. It’s the other occasional few that present as something of a problem. “You were asking me about my work, which is fine, thank you.”

“How’d you end up with Weasley anyway?” Theo asks, thankfully assisting pulling the conversation away to safer waters. “Isn’t she quite junior?”

“She was the Holyhead Harpies prize Chaser until last year,” Draco says, smoothing a curl in his robe collar with one hand. He must have spent the night at Harry’s, because no house elf in the manor would allow such a travesty. 

“Why did she stop?” Theo asks bluntly and then scoffs at their faces. “Oh, come on. No one would give up a career on one of the best Quidditch teams in the league to wear shit-brown robes and drink crap coffee willingly.”

“She must have a good reason,” Pansy agrees, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I wouldn’t be an auror personally, especially if I had fame and fortune like that. She was the only one of those Gryffindors with an interesting career.”

“Thanks,” Draco says flatly and stirs the foam on his cocktail. He’s another who had to endure family disapproval for his chosen career. 

“I'm just saying,” Pansy says defensively. “She was a world class Chaser, for one of the top teams. She could have had a career like Gwenog Jones. So why did she give it up?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Blaise says and picks up his glass. His brain is a little tired of Ginevra Weasley today, as though her vivaciousness and spunk have worn him out. That's even without the lore - Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend, a witch who was instrumental during the war, who gave up a dazzling career to investigate randy sex pollen. She's a little like a tornado, and Blaie can kind of see how she and Harry were attracted to each other. “But it’s not like she’s ever going to tell me about it.”

Blaise likes getting into the office early. If you time it just right, you have about half an hour from when the night shift has almost all filed out and before the day shift arrives. 

He makes himself a cup of tea, relishing in the quietness of the kitchen. Normally there’s a queue waiting for the kettle, and only a handful of crumbs left in the biscuit tin, because no one ever thinks to refill it. 

“Make me one,” Ginny says, without any preamble, rushing into the kitchen. She also has her hand in the biscuit tin before he can respond, pulling out several Squashed Newts and cramming them into her mouth. 

“Hard morning?” Blaise asks, summoning another mug. She just nods, crumbs on her chin. 

“Spent all night with Luna trying to unspell that pygmy puff,” she says, once she’s chewed enough to speak. “I’d almost be impressed with the spellwork, if it weren’t being committed on a helpless creature.”

“Not your average levitation charm?” Blaise asks, pouring in water. It’s a Chudley Cannons mug - likely Ron’s - but she’ll just have to deal. 

“No,” she says ruefully and digs in the tin for something with chocolate. “A bit more permanent than a Wingardium Leviosa. It acted quite like those Muggle helium balloons, you know, all buoyant and bouncy? Luna was pretty concerned, she thought it might have affected the puff’s insides, because you never can tell when you charm a living creature.”

“Is it okay?” Blaise asks, sloshing in milk. He holds up sugar cubes until she nods that he has enough and he tips them in. 

“Yes, thank Merlin,” Ginny says, gratefully taking the mug. “We took it to the animal hospital, although that really was a precaution. Luna’s taking a qualification in Magical Creature Husbandry. There’s very little she doesn’t already know, but she insisted.”

“What have you done with him?” Blaise asks, taking the other chair. “I’m guessing you won’t be returning him.”

“Hardly,” Ginny scoffs. “I’m tempted to go along and slap them with a fine. At least for starters…no, I’ve got him.”

“I thought you had an owl?” Blaise asks, taking another biscuit. She seems to be depleting the tin for her breakfast so he might as well help. 

“I do,” she says. “But I had a pygmy puff in school. Arnold. Sweet little thing but he passed a while ago. They don’t have the longest life spans.”

“What are you going to name this one?” Blaise asks, because this is something else he hadn’t known about her. He’d thought that Ginny would be like Potter and his ilk - they’re all a decent sort but they are all the same breed of…well, Gryffindors. Ginny’s more interesting. “Also, Arnold ?”

“It was a dignified name,” Ginny protests, sweeping crumbs off the table and slapping the lid back on the tin. They’ve eaten most of them so it’s a bit late for that.

“Ron once told me you named his owl Pigwidgeon,” Blaise counters. “There’s no logic with you, clearly.”

For a second, he thinks he might have gone too far - surely they’re not close enough yet for any kind of teasing. But Ginny just sticks out her tongue goodnaturedly at him. 

“Fine then,” she says. “ You help me choose a name then.”

“Alright,” Blaise says, a little thrown by the unexpected honour. “Claudius. Piff. Neptune, Bibble, Tarragon.” He’s not finished but Ginny is already laughing. 

“That’s the strangest collection of names I’ve ever heard,” she says, shaking her head. 

“Well, I didn’t know what you might like,” he protests. “To be honest, I’m not sure that bouncing ball of pink fur is gifted with a great deal of brain cells. Tarragon might be too complicated for the poor creature.”

“I’ll keep thinking about it, if you don’t mind,” Ginny says, looking bemused. “I”m not sold on Tarragon anyway.” 

Time has passed enough for there to be noise from the bullpen, people filing in. Very soon the kitchen will be overrun by people looking for their caffeine fix, and who will be undoubtedly annoyed by the shortage of biscuits. 

“Suppose we’d better get on,” Blaise says and drains the rest of his rapidly cooling tea. He’s a little reluctant to even leave. He’s actually been enjoying himself. 

They wash and return their cups and slip out into the hallway, just as people open the door. Blaise grabs the file from his desk, while Ginny throws her robes on over her Muggle ensemble. He meets her at the door, as she smooths down her red hair. 

“Shall we?” Ginny asks expectantly.

Their second trip to Amora’s Adventurous Acquisitions is easier this time, stepping through the door to be greeted by two smiling shop attendants. The dark-haired one introduces herself as Samira, just in case they need any help. This time they collect a basket, walking with purpose down the aisles. 

“What are you doing?” Blaise hisses in panic, as Ginny starts throwing things into the basket. She peers at a cock ring ‘with easy-spelled settings for all kinds of fun’ and then throws it in too. 

“We can’t just get what we came for,” she says, dropping her voice. “If we’re a couple, we’d buy several things, surely?”

“Not the whole shop,” he chides her. “I don’t know what the Ministry will do with a vibrating cock-ring and several kinds of lube. And Orson will kill me.”

“Judging by the activities of the Wizengamot, probably quite a lot,” Ginny remarks and grins when Blaise laughs. He hadn’t meant to, but she’s surprisingly funny. 

“Maybe full armor and a condom,” Blaise suggests, just to see Ginny smile. “Don’t go too overboard. I doubt some beginners would dive right in. No, put that back.” Ginny pauses, hands around the Kraken-cock, which somehow looks even huger in her tiny hands. 

“If I give the money back to Orson from my own paycheck, do you think I can keep it?” she asks. Blaise stares at it and tries very hard to not think about what she’s suggesting. 

“Not for me,” she says hurriedly, dropping it in their basket. “But I was considering leaving it unwrapped on Draco’s desk.”

“Are you angry with him?” Blaise asks. She and Draco are polite but distant with each other. Maybe in the future that will change but he can understand it from both their points of view. Draco will always be jealous of Ginny’s connection and history with Harry. And Ginny will never be able to forget that Harry left her for Draco. 

“Not anymore,” she says quietly. “Our relationship was on the outs anyway. Draco just…accelerated things, whether he knew it or not. But sometimes…yeah, I do fantasize about leaving a large tentacle cock on his desk.”

“He might suspect it was you,” Blaise points out, even though now that she’s said it, he’d really like to see it. Draco is still the most buttoned-up of them all in public. A fake wriggling cock sitting front and centre on his desk would be spectacular. 

Ginny just snorts. “Maybe Harry then?” she suggests. 

“I won’t stop you,” Blaise says. Ginny pauses at the end of the aisle, by the anal dildos and finds the ‘Dragon Rider’, something that terrifies Blaise by name alone. 

“I’m not having that on our receipt,” Blaise says firmly and whips it out of her hand. “The Kraken is bad enough.”

“Shame,” Ginny says reluctantly. “I may have to come back here on my day off.”

“Why, fancy biting your boyfriend’s nose off, do you?” Blaise asks, because he has a good reason to be wary of the products in here. There’s no guarantee that the perfume is the only item that has unexpected consequences. 

“Thankfully, I don’t have one,” Ginny says, picking up yet another box to scrutinise it. “But that’s probably why I need a shop like this.”

“I must say,” Blaise says, dutifully trailing after her from shelf to shelf. “I am a little stunned that you’re currently unattached.”

“I’ve dated since Harry and I split,” Ginny says, with a shrug. This statement doesn’t come as a surprise to Blaise - it’s been over a year since the mess that happened last April. He hadn’t known Ginny then but he can imagine what it was like for her. “Things are just busy right now. My last boyfriend was a Healer…we never got time together.”

“It’s not going to get any easier,” Blaise advises her. “Everyone of my relationships has crashed and burned once they realise I’m never going to have time for dinner parties, or Quidditch matches, or even making it home on time.”

“Not unless you date an auror,” Ginny points out, with a crease in her brow that suggests she’s not serious. That route just leaves another cauldron of trouble, because while they might understand the job, it also provides stress, worry and conflict on the job. Every downside you have as an auror is doubled when it’s someone you love. 

They work their way around the shop, picking up a few things (Blaise puts more than a few of them back) until they reach the perfume. Ginny sniffs one curiously and shrugs. 

“I don’t smell anything,” she says, looking annoyed. “How do we tell which is which?”

“We don’t,” Blaise answers and grabs a random one. “We have to go on luck for now.”

They’re just making one final loop of the shop (Blaise sneezing furiously near the fountain) when the door chimes, admitting another set of patrons. Ginny stiffens, her eyes widening. 

“Shit,” Ginny mutters, her tone unusually panicked. Blaise jerks his head up - he’s seen her dodge bludgers and curses, without sounding anywhere near as frantic. 

“What?” he asks urgently and Ginny just brushes the curtain of gleaming blonde hair over her face. Several people have just entered the shop and Blaise discreetly cranes his neck to look at them. 

“The people that just came in,” Ginny says, keeping her voice soft. “One of them is Marlin Crawley. We arrested him a while back for fraud, when I was working with Lu and Wellthorn.”

“So?” Blaise asks. Their glamours are perfect and impenetrable. There’s no chance he could recognise Ginny. 

“ So ,” Ginny says, stress in every syllable. “He’s a Legilimens. A good one. One stray thought and he’ll know immediately we’re not who we say we are.”

Shit. Blaise tracks the pair as they cross the shop floor, immediately spotting Crawley. He’s with a pretty blonde witch, who’s giggling nervously as she trails Crawley around the shop. Even from here, Blaise doesn’t like the look of the man. He has a hard set to his mouth and cold eyes. 

“That’s his girlfriend,” Ginny mutters, pretending to prod at one of the handcuffs. “She’s likely no better - I always thought she was his accomplice but I couldn’t prove it.”

“What do you want to do?” Blaise asks, because he knows what Prudence would say, especially in a high-priority case such as this. Ginny’s mouth twists unhappily. 

“We can’t risk being caught,” she says. “But if we leave now without what we came for…”

Blaise hears the end of her sentence, without her needing to say it aloud. A hasty exit would look suspicious to everyone, particularly if they abandon all of their chosen purchases and bolt. It would throw up red flags with not only Crawley, but the shop-assistants. But if they stay and have Crawley get close enough for a look at Ginny’s thoughts, he would waste no time in blowing their cover. 

“You go,” Blaise says, relieving Ginny of her basket. “Crawley doesn’t know me, so my mind won’t be familiar to him. I’ll buy these quickly then follow you.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny hisses. Crawley has paused by the Witch Friendly items, smirking at the detachable tongues. If he continues this way, there might not be enough time for Ginny to get out. “If he gets a look inside your mind…”

“I’m not the best at Occlumency but I can manage,” Blaise says. He’s never managed it as well as Draco but his friend has tried repeatedly over the years to ensure Blaise has the basics to defend himself. It should be enough to keep Crawley away, while he makes the necessary purchase. “He’s heading this way, you have to go now .”

Ginny’s eyes narrow, like she’s considering other options. But they have none, so she nods. 

“Thank you,” she says and kisses him on the cheek. It’s all part of their cover but the gesture startles him so much that she’s darting away and over to the door before he can react. 

Crawley is still on the move, content to let his girlfriend pick up whatever she likes. Blaise takes the opportunity to head to the till, trying his best to clear his mind. 

“Where’d your wife go?” Samira asks, with a pleasant smile. She begins unloading the basket and Blaise tries not to wince as she picks up the Kraken-cock. 

“Post office,” he says smoothly. “We forgot to post a letter, so I offered to stay here. Can’t say I fancy the queues in there much anyway.”

“I don’t blame you,” Samira agrees, still ringing up their choices. “You’ve got some good items here. I must say, you bought more than I expected you to for first timers.”

“Well, we liked a lot of the stuff in here,” Blaise fibs. “It’s been hard, keeping the magic going.” 

Samira just nods with understanding, studying the price tag of the cooling lube. “It can be,” she says sympathetically. “For any relationship. Sometimes I’m glad I work here!”

“Probably gives you lots of ideas,” Blaise says and watches Crawley and his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. They’re circling back around and Blaise tries to keep his mind as blank as possible. 

“You bet,” Samira says, placing their items in a discreet black bag. “I’m forever bringing home new products to try.”

Samira chatters on, as she sorts through their purchases but Blaise doesn’t hear a word of it. He’s painfully aware of Crawley inching closer, which is only making clearing his mind that much harder. No wonder Draco had gone on at him about it. Under pressure it’s impossible. 

But he doesn’t necessarily have to clear his mind. He can always think about something else. 

The strawberry blonde from the magazine is easy enough to focus on, tossing her curls and giggling. She has a cute rosebud mouth, and cups her fingers over her nipples just so, enough to give a hint about what might be underneath them. It’s enough for Blaise to forget everything else, who he is, and what they’re here for. 

But maybe not quite enough. 

“That’s everything,” Samira says cheerfully, popping the last item in the bag. Crawley has wandered away again, lured back down another aisle by his girlfriend. “Here’s your total.” 

Blaise pays it in a daze and claims a receipt. He’s not sure what Orson will make of their purchases but that’s not his problem. 

He emerges back into the street, blinking a little in the bright sunshine after the soft glow of the shop. He’s grateful to be away from the stifling floral scent and he spots Ginny lurking behind a sign further up. 

“Did you get it?” Ginny asks, bobbing out from behind the sign for SWISH AND SNIP, THE QUICK CUTS FOR THE MODERN WIZARD. 

“I got it,” Blaise reassures her. “And I don’t think Crawley noticed me.” Ginny’s shoulders visibly slump in relief. 

“Thank you,” she says, even as her eyes flick anxiously to the entrance of Amora’s Acquisitions. “ Shall we get out of here? I don’t want to risk running into him again.”

“Sure,” Blaise says, mouth suddenly dry. He knows that it’s guilt that’s sapped it of all moisture, sheer embarrassment even though no one else could know what was going through his mind except him. He follows Ginny down the street, aware that his stomach is churning with each step. It’s highly unprofessional, not to mention uncomfortable given their fledgling friendship, and it would only be best to put it out of his mind. 

But at the end of the day, for just a second, the thought of Ginny Weasley in the skimpy Quidditch outfit had appeared in his head, and now it seems almost impossible to forget. 

“Can we not mention that bit to Prudence?” Ginny asks quietly, as they arrive back at the Ministry. “I don’t want her to…this is a big deal for me.”

“I understand,” Blaise says. When you’re starting out, you do whatever you can to prove yourself. Everyone else has a few more years experience than she does and she must be desperate to prove herself. This is an opportunity that wasn’t offered to some more senior aurors due to the ridiculous, salacious nature and Blaise can’t blame her for wanting it to be a good mark on her record. It might only be sex toys, but proving she can handle an undercover mission like this can only be a positive for her. 

“Thanks,” she says, stopping by the elevators. When the doors open, one of their fellow aurors steps out and doesn’t give them a second glance. Blaise almost forgot that they never dispelled the glamours. 

“We’d better take this to one of the evidence rooms,” Blaise says, once they’re in and descending. “Log it for inspection and testing immediately.”

“I hate the evidence room,” Ginny says and draws her wand. She easily dispels their glamors with a deft flick. “It smells strange. And the attendants are always so grumpy.”

But the Evidence Department is short staffed, a bored looking wizard behind the barrier who barely even looks up when they enter. The other kiosks are all closed, the gates shut up entirely. Just behind his chair there are rows and rows of shelves, some of which are filled with sealed bags, waiting to be taken down to the testing rooms when the day ends. 

“Take these forms,” he says, pushing a clipboard across the desk. “Fill them out for every piece of evidence you need to submit. Take Inspection Room A and use the appropriate tags as needed.”

“Thanks,” Blaise says, pulling the clipboard towards him. Thank Merlin they only have one item. Evidence submission forms are notoriously long. 

The four inspection rooms off the main room are all small, with only a table and a shelf filled with the appropriate equipment. Ginny dumps the bag on the table and begins digging through it, while Blaise fetches what they need. 

“Do we just need testing?” he calls, staring at the assortment of brightly coloured tags that decree where the evidence is sent once it’s been logged. There are five different tags - preservation, testing, hazardous and isolation, as well as the standard tag. Very few things sent to evidence need the standard tag. In his time as an auror, Blaise has sent potions, cursed objects, a charmed mirror, a broken wand, and a particularly furious garden gnome through to evidence. 

“I think so,” Ginny says, placing the bottle down on the table. It shimmers in the light, its beauty giving no sign of the potential danger lying within. Blaise steps round to the other side of the table with several quills, a green testing tag, and an evidence bag. 

“Quidditch never had such long forms,” Ginny groans and Blaise looks at her, bent over the form with her eyebrows furrowed together. She never talks about her time with the Holyhead Harpies and early on they learned that anyone who tried would regret it. Aldar Gibbons was the first one in the bullpen to experience her Bat Bogey Hex. 

“Can’t imagine why you’d leave,” Blaise says lightly, focusing on writing out the tag in his neatest print. 

“It was just…for the better,” Ginny mumbles into her collar. But she’s not reaching for her wand, so Blaise feels reassured. 

“Probably more fun than this,” Blaise says, aware of what a tightrope they’re standing on. He doesn’t know her well enough to ask - but judging by the lack of outrageous articles in the Daily Prophet, she probably left of her own accord. 

“It was,” Ginny says, sounding wistful. “Even with the early starts and the training, it was…wonderful. You know what it’s like. Dawn practices, when you’re on your broom and it’s just you in all the world.”

Blaise stares down at the scribbles of black ink, feeling oddly raw. She sounds so distant, so full of longing that he knows he doesn’t have the right to be asking her any of this. She doesn’t like to be asked about leaving Quidditch, because she hadn’t really wanted to. She was made to, and he can take an educated guess at the decisions that led her there. 

But there’s nothing he can say that will make it better. There’s nothing that can undo the choices she’s made or the reasons behind it and it can’t erase other people’s treatment of her. Right now they have a job to finish. 

But when Blaise goes to tie on the tag, he accidentally squeezes the nozzle, releasing a burst of fragrance into the air. 

They both freeze - they can’t help it. They’re trained to be wary of unknown substances, and even worse they know exactly what this one does. At least being in a contained room, with no bystanders means that impact might be minimized. 

There’s a fizzing sensation in his nose, something hot and itchy that makes him want to scratch it. But then it’s gone, fading away as quickly as a sneeze. 

“Ugh,” Ginny says, wrinkling up her nose in disgust. She waves a hand through the air, trying to dispel the lingering scent. “I hope no one ever actually wears this.”

“Might cause a bit of a stir,” Blaise agrees. The perfume is overly sweet, with undertones of peaches and gardenia. “I’m sure it’s just for recreation.”

“Maybe it doesn’t work?” Ginny muses, staring down at the bottle. “I just feel a bit itchy.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Blaise says with a shrug. He’d been a bit worried when the pump had gone off, but it doesn’t actually seem to be having an effect. There was always the chance that the sales assistants had the chance to remove the tainted product before they got a chance to retrieve one. 

“Maybe this is just the regular perfume,” Ginny says despondently, her shoulders slumping. “Merlin, I am so screwed. I cannot mess this up.”

“Well, let’s get it tested first,” Blaise suggests, before she can spiral out. “We’ll handle the next steps when we know. We always suspected that there might not be any of the tainted products left on the shelves.”

“I guess,” Ginny agrees, but she still looks forlorn. “What can we even do now without proof? Can we even go in to confiscate every bottle they have in stock?”

“We can,” Blaise considers. The whole purpose of their plan was to keep whoever was responsible in the dark about the Ministry’s interest. If they arrive to take every single bottle from the shelves, it will be a clear sign that they’re investigating. And cornered animals have a tendency to bite. Blaise wouldn’t expect any one of the sales assistants to start throwing curses but you can never take the risk. 

Blaise tugs at the neck of his robes. He’s starting to feel a bit hot, which is odd in itself. The Ministry isn’t known for its efficient and abundant heating. 

Ginny’s face is a little flushed, colour starting to rise in her cheeks. It suits her, reminding him of Quidditch matches when they were younger and the cold air gave them all rosy faces. He has a vivid memory of her all of a sudden, playing a match against her in his sixth year. Her hair had been pulled back in a sharp ponytail, but the ends still fluttered in the breeze as she rose on her broom. She’d been so young then, with no idea of what was ahead of her. 

“Warm in here,” Ginny says, and her voice sounds thick. Blaise’s mouth also starts to feel a bit dry, as though he’s standing under the summer sun rather than a small room with no windows. 

His heart’s pounding in a strange way when he looks at her. And maybe it should, because the freckles on her nose become painfully clear, scattered like stars across her skin. 

“Very,” Blaise agrees. He wonders if she feels the same as he does - stomach clenched into knots, heart pounding against his ribs, and a very familiar sensation down below.

“We should get some air,” Ginny rasps and takes a shaky step around the side of the table. Blaise does the same, but neither of them actually make it any closer to the door. Blaise keeps a hand on the table’s surface, just to have something solid against him. He’s never felt so lightheaded, not since Pansy’s kitchen sink punch. But then there’s only one more step to take, and Ginny is stumbling into his personal space. 

He’d be lying if he didn’t feel complete when he presses his mouth to hers, soft and warm and everything that he’d thought about. 

She tastes like rich, sweet tea and gives as good as she gets, refusing to let Blaise dominate her. She presses against him, warm and demanding, and Blaise winds a hand in her thick, bright hair, because he’s thought about it all day. Or has he? He no longer remembers what’s real and what’s fantasy. He must have wanted Ginny. She’s beautiful and perfect, he’s always thought so. 

Ginny is tugging at his robes with a sudden single-minded intensity and Blaise stops to do the same. He can’t bear the layers between them anymore and there’s a moment of frustration until both robes are lying abandoned on the table. 

She’s wearing muggle clothes underneath, jeans and a t-shirt, but this is more tolerable for now. He can run his hands down her back, feel her warmth through the thin cotton and curve around her rear, tugging her back into his body. She flings her arms around his neck, reaching up on tiptoes to cover the gap. 

It’s good. It’s not enough. 

He slides his hands under her t-shirt and the feel of her bare skin is like a balm. He slides them up, feeling the lines of her bra around to the clasp. It’s easy enough to release it and he traces the long arch of her spine all the way down to her waist and back again. She squirms in his grip, moans heavily into his mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate to bring a hand around to the front of her body. 

The curve of her breast is so soft in his hand, fitting perfectly against the curve of his palm. He flicks a finger against her nipple and she exhales a sigh against his lips. He considers stripping off her t-shirt and bra, wanting desperately to put his mouth against her bare skin just to see how she’ll react. He wants to lick around each curve, suck a nipple into his mouth, taste the sweat against her skin all the way up to her collarbone. And clearly she wants more too because she’s pressing a hand against the ridge in his trousers, following the line of the zipper up to his waistband. 

He’s never wanted anyone so badly in his life. He can’t even remember the last time hunger like this smothered him this way, cutting off every rational thought other than being with her. She’s so beautiful, red hair falling across her chest, pink mouth gently parted as she fights with his fastenings. He wants to devour her whole and he wonders briefly if she’ll let him. If he lifts her onto the table and presses his mouth against her until she comes undone. She’d probably taste as sweet as her lips. 

The sudden banging on the door is like cold water being thrown across the both of them. 

“Hey!” A voice shouts, but thankfully doesn’t come in. Blaise takes a breath, mind clearing for the first time, and takes in their state of undress with horror. Ginny’s eyes are also becoming less hazy, as the potion works its way out of her system too. There’s a strange, startled hitch to her breath as she looks down at the way their bodies were entwined. 

“Are you two okay in there?” the voice continues, and it’s the evidence room clerk. “You’ve been in there a while.”

“We’re fine!” Blaise calls out because Ginny doesn’t seem able to. “Sorry, we tagged it wrong. We’ll be right out.”

And then thankfully, footsteps fade away from the door. Apparently they’re not interesting enough for further investigation. If only he knew.

He had his hand on her breast . She’d undone his belt and zipper, leaving his underwear visible, rubbing the thickness of his cock with her hand. He’d nearly eaten her out on an evidence room table. 

Blaise swallows. He’s still hard but that’s the least of his problems. They’re aurors on a case. A high priority case that cannot be compromised for any reason. Ginny’s fledgling career depends on it, and being caught in such a compromising position while on the clock would taint her reputation forever. And that’s not even considering the ridicule they’d get for not being careful enough with a suspicious substance. 

But all of that pales in comparison to how much Blaise would like to hold her again. 

“I should go,” Ginny says, her voice thin. She scrambles with her clothing, trying to make herself look presentable enough to step outside. “I’ll…can you finish those?”

“Ginny…” Blaise starts but even he’s not sure what he’s trying to say. He redoes his trousers, trying his best to hide the…less than dignified state of his lower body. All he knows is that things have gone terribly wrong and they will only be worse if she leaves. 

He likes Ginny Weasley. And maybe he’d liked her before in a ‘we’re colleagues and you seem pleasant’ kind of way but now he genuinely likes her. She’s funny, she’s bold, she’s smart. She cares about making a good impression, she warbles Celestina songs off-key, she teases him with such a bright expression on her face that he doesn’t even care. 

But she’s leaving before he can even think about telling her, panic and shame written all over her face. 

“Ginny,” Blaise says, smoothing his hands through his hair. “Ginny, I think we need to talk about this.”

But she’s gone before Blaise can even say another word. 

Chapter Text

There is not enough whiskey in the world to drown out the memory of Ginny Weasley’s mouth. And believe him, he has tried. 

“Do you want some pretzels?” Pansy asks, looking uncommonly concerned. “I wouldn’t normally ask but you don’t usually try to smother your problems with alcohol.”

“If there’s another whiskey with them, then sure,” Blaise says and slumps back in the booth. Pansy raises her eyebrows, before pushing herself up. 

“Don’t let him pass out before I’m back,” she says to Draco. “Not that I’m concerned, I just think it would be funny.”

“She is concerned,” Theo says immediately, once Pansy has vanished to the counter. They’re not at Twisted Elixir today, opting for the fancy wine bar that Pansy likes. The pretzels are vaguely disappointing, because they’re all artisan and covered with sea salt. “Seriously, mate, what’s with you?”

Blaise taps his finger against an empty glass. He’s in no mood to tell the whole sordid tale to his friends. Even with their assorted relationships with Gryffindors, he’s not sure they’d understand. 

But it’s been two days since the incident in the evidence room and it plays over and over until he feels sick with want. Ginny has taken pains to avoid him, lingering in both the Archives and the Records room. The one time he did appear by her desk, she’d given him a startled look and vanished towards the womens’ bathrooms. She didn’t reappear for half an hour, during which time, Blaise was getting some odd looks while he waited. He’d given it up in the end and slunk back to his own desk, feeling oddly crushed. 

Pansy returns, with a plate of pretzels and a full glass of whiskey for him. However, she won’t hand it over until he chokes down some pretzels and they taste as dry as expected. 

Merlin, he’s an idiot. He should know better than to fall for a coworker. What’s worse he’s not sure, that or getting exposed to an unknown potion…

“Draco,” Blaise says suddenly. “What do you know about love potions?”

“Love potions?” Draco asks, looking thrown by the change in topic. Blaise nods vehemently. He should have thought of it before. No one knows more about potions in the bullpen than Draco. 

“Love potions,” he says and then reassesses. He’s not sure that’s the right name for something called ‘Craving .’ “Or maybe aphrodisiacs?”

“What have you been doing?” Pansy murmurs and closes her mouth when Draco shoots her a look. 

“What kind?” he asks, tilting his head. “Is this to do with a case?”

“Yes,” Blaise says and then winces. “But if Prudence asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Alright,” Draco says slowly and leans forward in his seat. “They’re not the easiest thing to brew. It’s difficult to manage the dose just right. You end up with something akin to a love potion. Lust, infatuation…they’re not that different.”

“So the same type of potion?” Blaise asks. Draco purses his lips. 

“Of a fashion,” he says carefully. “They do share a lot of the same ingredients. But your typical love potion usually needs something mixed into it, to specify a target. Although, there was a case a while back of people ingesting a potion that caused them to fall in love with anyone they see. Love potions often leave people dazed and unlike themselves and very open to suggestion. Aphrodisiacs are a little simpler, but they can be used for targeted purposes as well.”

“Do they always need an antidote?” Blaise says. He and Ginny hadn’t needed one, which is why he’s asking. 

“Love potions, yes, usually,” Draco confirms. “Aphrodisiacs normally work their way out by themselves…but often it’s too late by the time that they do.”

“How long does it last?”

“Without repeated doses?” Draco says, sharing yet another look with Theo and Pansy. “Not long. Even the strongest ones often don’t exceed twenty-four hours. Why? Do you think you were dosed?”

But Blaise slumps in his chair. It’s been two days since he and Ginny inhaled the perfume - there’s no chance that it’s left any in their systems by now. Which means…oh, Merlin, which means he developed feelings and Ginny hadn’t. She’s clearly embarrassed and has no desire to discuss it for fear of hurting his feelings. 

“No,” Blaise says dully. “No, I haven’t been dosed. Just very, very stupid.”

There’s a soft, small hand on his arm and when he looks up, Blaise finds his friends’ faces almost painfully sympathetic. 

“Did something happen?” Pansy asks. The complete lack of airs or sarcasm in her voice is almost jarring and the fact that she’s so genuinely worried could almost make him weep. “On this case with the Weaslette, I mean. You just…you’re not yourself.”

No, he’s not himself. He has, without entirely meaning to, or permission, fallen quite completely for Ginny. 

“We kissed,” Blaise says heavily. He doesn’t have to tell them all of the details, he just can’t carry it around anymore. “We’ve been investigating a dosing incident and we…we weren’t being careful enough. We got dosed.”

“Merlin’s balls,” Theo says, looking stunned. But he’s not the only one, because when Blaise looks around the table, the facial expressions are all the same gobsmacked looks. “When was this?”

“Two days ago,” Blaise says, gut churning at the thought of it. He’s not sure what’s worse played on repeat in his head - Ginny’s hungry expression or the look on her face as she’d bolted from the room. “She’s been avoiding me ever since.”

“Well, it is a bit embarrassing,” Pansy sympathises. “It’s like when I had too much tequila at that Christmas party and got carried away in the cleaning cupboard with that gentleman from security. We could barely look at each other the next day.”

“That’s not quite the same,” Draco says carefully. He leans forward over the table to get Blaise’s attention. “How much of a dose was it?”

“I don’t know,” Blaise says and tries to think. “It was just a spray. It looked like a perfume.”

“And it hadn’t been tested?” Draco prods, his eyebrows furrowed together. 

“We were checking it into evidence,” Blaise says weakly, because he can almost see the storm that’s brewing. Draco takes evidence handling and cross-contamination very seriously. Harry was once poisoned with an age regressing potion that didn’t quite act as planned. 

“It could have been a lot worse,” Draco says sternly, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’m surprised that you got away with such mild consequences…why were you investigating it in the first place? I know Prudence wouldn’t have put you on a case if the only outcome was a mild makeout.”

“Bit more serious than that,” Blaise agrees and finally remembers the brand new glass of whiskey that Pansy had brought him. He’s going to suffer the consequences tomorrow but it might be worth it to fall into bed in a drunken stupor tonight. “They were…getting rather vigorous with their displays of affections. In chunks, I should say.”

Pansy gags loudly. “I could never be an auror,” she says with a shudder. But Draco is only chewing on a nail, looking thoughtful. 

“Well, either you had a mild dose,” he says, after some serious consideration. “Or the product isn’t as serious as you thought.”

“We did think that,” Blaise agrees, because he’s come to the same conclusion as well. He’s not sure how many squirts people are supposed to use, but he’s more inclined to say that the perfume is a regular dose. Prudence might be less than pleased if they came away without any evidence. “There was always a risk that they removed the tainted product before we could get to it.”

“Of course,” Draco says, tapping his chin with a finger. “It’s possible that the dangerous dose was compounded by something else that they were using. It does happen, you know. People never think to question whether potions are safe to take in conjunction with each other.”

“I still have to work the case with her,” Blaise says miserably. “We haven’t solved it and I don’t know how we’re going to when she’s avoiding me.”

“What I don’t get,” Theo interrupts, having kept quiet for the past few minutes. “Is why she’s so pissed. You kissed, that’s not the end of the world…” But Theo trails off upon seeing Blaise’s face and a slightly gleeful smirk soon follows. 

“You didn’t,” Pansy says, looking scandalised, and if there wasn’t enough judgment, this from Pansy of all people is the worst of it. “What did you do?” 

Blaise hides his face in his hands. He’s thought about it every day since, which only adds to his guilt. He still wants to touch her and it’s difficult to admit that. That maybe the hunger wasn’t induced by a dangerous potion, that it all came out of him . 

“We had stripped a little bit,” he confessed to his friends’ shocked faces. “There was some…groping.”

“ How much?” Theo demands and Blaise just groans. But Draco saves him, slapping a firm hand down onto the table. 

“We don’t need to know,” he insists to Theo and Pansy’s disappointed faces. “It’s not our business.”

Pansy just shakes her head, sitting back in her chair, with such an expression of delight on her features that Blaise knows he’s going to regret whatever she says next. 

“It’s a bit incestuous, isn’t it?” she muses, playing with the stem of her wine glass. “Because she dated Harry, and now you date Harry but Blaise…ow, Draco, don’t kick me!”

But the next morning, he finds that Ginny can no longer escape him. They’ve both been summoned to Prudence’s office, the same kind of magenta coloured paper airplane landing on their desks simultaneously. 

Blaise looks across the bullpen with trepidation as Ginny unfolds the airplane. He doesn’t even need to look at its contents - they’re still pursuing an active investigation after all. It’s quite clearly a summons. He closes his hand around the crisp edges of the paper and shoves it whole into his pocket. 

He feels tired and raw. As expected, he’d woken up this morning with a raging hangover and not even a hangover potion has been able to fully fix it. 

“Good morning,” Prudence says briskly and then does a double take at Blaise’s face. “Are you alright, Zabini? You look a little…sick.”

“I’m fine,” Blaise insists. He’s certainly not going to cop to getting wasted on a work night. “Did you get the results?”

“We did,” Prudence says, looking unconvinced. “There’s definitely elements of an aphrodisiac potion in the mix. However, we can’t tell what’s normal levels and what isn’t. We have permission to go in and seize the rest of the product.”

Shit, Blaise can feel Ginny practically vibrating next to him. She gets to go confiscate whatever perfume is left on the premises but she has to do it with him. 

“Not in disguise this time?” Ginny asks and Prudence shakes her head. 

“No, you can go as your normal selves this time,” she says. “You will need legitimacy behind you, I’m afraid. I’m not sure what will happen when you’re there. I suppose it depends on who is responsible. If it was an accident, you might have an easy time. If not…”

The rest goes unsaid. They could be in for a fight. 

“I’m trusting you with this,” Prudence says to Ginny. “I know you haven’t done much like this before but it’s good practice. Bring every bottle back here and trust your instincts. I don’t think we can go any further as we have. It’s time to flush them out.”

Ginny noticely deflates. Perhaps she’d been considering asking to go with someone else, or stepping back herself. But now she can’t and they have to see it through. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ginny says, and they file meekly out of the door. No doubt Prudence has noticed the change in them - but for whatever reason she hasn’t called them on it. Likely because they’re about to go on a bust together, and she’s betting on it shaking it out. If they’d been having a regular disagreement, then maybe this would work. It’s not going to fix them however. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ginny says in a low, fast voice as they stroll through the bullpen. “It was a mistake. We weren’t ourselves.”

“But…” Blaise starts and then stops. Now is not the time. They can’t be distracted going into this, just in case their lives are at risk. But Ginny’s in no mood, pulling them along to the elevators at breakneck speed.

“This is the absolute last time we need to discuss it,” Ginny says firmly, not even breaking stride. Blaise struggles to keep up with her, feeling his heart judder painfully with each step. 

“The last time,” Blaise agrees and swallows down the burning feeling in his chest as he does so. 

It’s a little odd returning to the shop as themselves. Ginny presses heavily on the doorbell, not looking at him. She’s wearing a stern face, but whether it’s for him or the task they’re about to tackle, he’s not sure. 

The door is opened again by Rose, but she looks considerably less warm when she sees them. She takes in their Auror robes with a pinched expression. 

“Can I help you?” she asks. 

“We are here to remove a product from your shelves,” Ginny says crisply. “We have reason to believe that it’s dangerous to the public. We will need to take whatever you have in stock and transport it to the Ministry for testing.”

Rose takes the offered parchment and her eyes narrow when she sees what they’re requesting. 

“That perfume isn’t dangerous,” she insists, still blocking the door. “I make it myself and have done so for years.”

Blaise contains his surprise. He’d half suspected that she played a crucial role in the business but this is beyond expectations. He remembers the brand name, the one that Ginny had pointed out being above the door and on all of the bottles. Afternoon Delight. It’s a phrase denoting sex…but it’s also the name of a rose. 

“I’m afraid that we must insist, ma’am,” Ginny says firmly. “Please let us pass.”

Rose opens the door, but reluctantly. She trails after them through the shop, until they reach the right shelf. At first glance, there are just as many gleaming little bottles as the other day…but upon closer inspection, a few must have sold. A few more bottles that are a ticking time bomb. 

Blaise retrieves the bag from his robe and enlarges it. It’s a Undetectable Extension charm on it and will hold as many bottles as they need. Rose scowls as they begin to sweep the shelves. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says furiously. They’ve successfully gained the attention of the entire shop, every patron and the two girls behind the counter, in their blush pink company robes. Ginny grabs the last few and turns to Rose. 

“What’s in the back?” she asks. “Do you have any more stock?”

For a second, it looks as if Rose might protest. Thankfully she just frowns and leads them to a large painting. Blaise looks up at the woman, takes in the gently curling blonde hair and pale blue eyes and has to question his abilities as an auror. He never stopped to notice before that this is clearly a painting of Rose when she was about Ginny’s age. The frame swings forward at Rose’s muttered password, and Blaise peers round at the door hidden beneath.

“Clever,” Blaise says quietly and then turns, raising his voice. “If you’re not an employee, everyone out! If you have one of these perfumes, please hand it in to Auror Weasley or myself.”

The assembled customers do so, leaving their baskets on the floor. The other shop assistant closes the door behind them. 

The back room is a clean, professional workspace. Blaise looks around at the variety of cauldrons set aside, the wall of ingredient bottles, all carefully arranged and labelled. The cauldrons are all clean and dry, and Blaise peers into each one to make sure. 

“When did you last brew the perfume?” Ginny asks, turning to Rose who is waiting just inside the door. They refused to let her any further inside while they investigated. 

“I don’t know,” Rose says in frustration. “A few weeks ago?”

Ginny and Blaise share a glance - it’s possible. The timeline fits, with the first incident happening two weeks ago, and the other two in quick succession. Advisor Cauldwell was checked into the hospital over the weekend, just in time for Ginny and Blaise to be handed the case on Tuesday. 

“How often do you brew for your products?” Ginny continues. She’s on the hunt, although for what, Blaise can’t be sure. But she’s right to do so, and there may be something here that they’re just not seeing. 

“When they’re needed,” Rose says, in a hard tone. She has her arms folded across her chest, and something about her demeanor doesn’t ring of a person who is guilty. But it means nothing until they find evidence, so they push on. 

“Does anyone else use this space?” Blaise asks instead. There are other workers here, which possibly means other people capable of brewing potions. 

“On occasion,” Rose answers after a beat. “I do hire girls with Potions qualifications, who can brew the basics if need be. Sometimes it’s more than I can keep up with.”

“But not the perfume?” Ginny checks. Rose furiously shakes her head. 

“No!” she says sharply. “The perfume is too risky. It’s very precise and I don’t trust anyone else to make it. Love or lust potions can go so terribly wrong, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“So no one is involved with the perfume?” Ginny pushes. There has to be something there - either Rose is lying or someone else has been involved. 

“Well,” Rose says slowly. “I have Samira help me sometimes. It’s just that it’s a complicated potion to make and it’s easier with two sets of hands…”

Blaise doesn’t even need to look at Ginny, but they’re both flying out of the back room anyway. They’re too late and the door is hanging wide open, the other assistant cowering by the register. Judging by the way the door swings, they’ve only just missed her. She must have waited until she was sure that she had nothing to lose by leaving, that the conversation they were having would implicate her eventually. 

She hasn’t gotten very far. And Blaise and Ginny are both in excellent shape, easily catching up to her down the street. She’s in floods of tears and doesn’t put up a fight when they track her down. 

Samira cowers in her chair and she doesn’t look like a hardened criminal. Ginny watches her through the glass, chewing anxiously on her lip. 

“I wouldn’t have thought it was her,” she says quietly and Blaise jerks his head up at the sound of her voice. It’s almost like she’s forgotten that they’re not talking. They had worked so well together during their trip to the shop, but he hadn’t at all expected it to continue.

“I didn’t get that vibe either,” he says regretfully. He likes to think - they all do - that he has a good feel for someone who is bad news. But there had been none of that at all from Samira and he finds that he’s oddly disappointed to have her in their interrogation room. 

“She was so nice,” Ginny continues, watching Samira wring her hands against the magical bonds that keep her restrained. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person that would have other people devour each other.”

“She might not be,” Blaise points out. He’s all for giving people the benefit of the doubt, and so far they haven’t heard any of Samira’s side. It could still be an accident, and he’s actually impatient to hear what she has to say. “We won’t know until we ask her.”

Ginny chews on her lip a bit more, until it starts to bloom a furious bright pink. But finally she gives a determined nod, and they step into the room together. 

“Hello, Samira,” Ginny says and Samira just sniffs wetly. Ginny releases the restraints with a tap of her wand, feeling that they don’t need them with both Aurors in the room. 

“Are you alright?” Blaise asks, taking one of the chairs opposite her. He can’t help it - he’s not good with crying women. And he still wants to believe that this was all an accident. 

“Am I in a lot of trouble?” Samira asks in a small voice. Ginny sits down as well, spreading the photographs out across the desk. One is of Advisor Cauldwell’s bare behind, the large and visible bite marks, and Samira visibly recoils. 

“It depends on what you have to tell us,” Ginny says. There are other photos too, from the two incidents that they’d managed to link to this case. In one, a man had tied up his partner so tightly she had been treated for rope burns, as he’d wanted her to never leave him. And rather more seriously, a woman had caused significant damage to her partner for a similar reason - that she’d loved him so much and he was so cute, she just had to squeeze and squeeze and…

Thankfully, no one was dead, or Samira would be in serious trouble. 

“What happened?” Blaise pushes. “We checked, there were no prior complaints about the perfume.” Samira rubs at her eyes, and Blaise hands her a tissue from the stack he’d smuggled in his robes. She nods gratefully and dabs at her face. 

“It was such a silly thing,” she confesses, clutching the damp tissue in her hands. “I thought my boyfriend was losing interest in me. I thought maybe if he had a stronger dose of the perfume and remembered what it was like…but I made a mistake. The potion was too strong.”

“So you made it for yourself?” Ginny checks. She must have known that Rose would never agree to changing the strength of the perfume and so did it herself. “How did it get out?”

“That was an accident!” Samira protests, a flush rising in her cheeks. “Truly it was. I only made enough for six bottles. I was stupid and forgot to mark them. And then someone took them and put them out on the shelves when the stock was low. Rose had only just made a new batch, so I thought it would be safe and no one would notice. I realised what had happened far too late and by then, there was no way to tell which one was my bad batch and which wasn't.”

“Which all got bought,” Ginny says slowly, looking down at the photographs. Each couple bought a perfume and had it go drastically wrong. “But you don’t know how many?”

Samira shakes her head, looking defeated. “I didn’t know…they might have already been sold. If so, it’s only a matter of time. I was trying to figure out how to request a recall without giving away what I’d done. I’d lose my job…probably still will.” 

There’s no answer to that that they can give. Losing her job is the least of the repercussions. They’ll have to test every single bottle that they confiscated today to find the remaining three. And if they have been bought…there could be a very bad day for someone out there, in a glossy mother of pearl bottle. 

“But you don’t normally make the perfume? Rose said you usually only assist her.” Ginny says suddenly. Not surprisingly, Samira shakes her head again. 

“Not alone,” she says miserably. “I can brew other things…bath lotion and other things. But I’d never made the perfume without Rose there. She’s head of product development and it’s her concoction. She never would have let me make a batch with a higher ratio because it’s an aphrodisiac and it’s so volatile. She always said changing the ratios would ruin the entire potion. I just thought she meant the potion would go bad, not that it would do…this.”

“Surely it’s all dangerous?” Ginny says, and there’s a hard tone in her voice. “It’s risky! It’ll make people do things they didn’t mean to!” Ginny’s voice rips through the room, sharp and high, and Blaise knows instantly that she means about what happened in the evidence room. Something curdles in his stomach, knowing that she feels like she was forced into it. 

“It’s not,” Samira presses, rubbing at her damp cheeks with a tissue. “I swear it’s not. There were only a few bottles from my batch. It’s just the normal brand.”

“It must be more potent than that!” Ginny insists. Her cheeks are flushed with frustration. “It’s dangerous!”

But to Blaise’s surprise, Samira holds her ground. Despite her mistake - and a wildly reckless one, meant for her own gain - she clearly has pride in her job. 

“It’s not!” she insists, raising her voice. “I made that one batch too strong. But normally it’s only an aphrodisiac, meant to heighten what’s already there. It would only have an effect if you were already…” Samira’s voice trails off, her eyes darting from Ginny’s hot face to Blaise’s anxious one. He can see the moment that she puts it together, her eyes widening. Ginny’s not helping matters, her cheeks as red as her hair. 

Samira’s mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’ but her shocked silence is nothing compared to the storm currently wreaking havoc in Blaise’s mind.

He’d thought that Ginny didn’t like him. That the potion had made them both do those things, and only he had developed any feelings for her. But if he was wrong, and the potion can only strengthen someone’s existing desires, then why has she spent the last few days running away from him? 

“Where has Ginevra gone?” Prudence asks curiously. Blaise cowers in his chair, wondering how much she saw or overheard earlier. 

“Just for coffee,” he lies. “We’re going to be here late doing the paperwork.” 

Her lips purse as she towers over his desk, studying his face. She’s always been excellent at reading people, part of the skill that makes her a great Auror. 

“Alright,” Prudence says finally. She lifts up her handbag, which is no doubt full of work that she’s taking home. She’s no better than the rest of them. “Good night, Zabini. And good job.”

“Thanks,” Blaise says and watches her disappear towards the door. The bullpen is quiet, most people already heading home. He’s got time to get through these forms before the night shift comes in, but he’s doing them alone. 

A shadow appears over his desk and Blaise’s heart skips a beat for a second. But then the smell of cologne and broomstick polish washes over him and he sinks back into his chair in despair. 

“Hi, Harry,” he says dully, and there’s a chuckle while Harry summons a chair from another desk. He has his robes slung over his shoulder, a clear disregard for the Auror’s handbook. 

“It’s as bad as Draco says then,” he says, throwing himself down. Blaise makes himself look up at Ginny’s former lover - and his best friend’s current one - and wonders if this is the reason why Ginny won’t speak to him. To the outside world, the break up had seemed amicable, but Blaise doesn’t blame them for putting that illusion out there. The press is fickle, and it was probably by design to protect both Ginny and Harry. Some people would blame Ginny, just because she’s not their chosen saviour, and Harry wouldn’t be exempt either. After all, he had left her for someone else. 

“How so?” Blaise asks, watching Harry stretch out his legs. He doesn’t see the appeal himself, but there must be something there. Ginny had loved him, Draco has been in the grip of Harry Potter since they were eleven, and that’s not even starting on the wizarding world as a whole. To him, Harry just looks like a regular bloke - dark hair falling into his eyes, glasses slightly crooked, long, rough fingers twirling his wand as he thinks. 

“You look pretty miserable,” Harry says frankly. “He said…well, he said a lot of things that I probably shouldn’t know.”

“And yet he accuses Pansy of not being able to keep her mouth shut,” Blaise gripes, but there’s very little heart in it. He can’t be mad at Draco - none of them have any real insight into Ginny, when they all barely know her. 

But Harry might. 

“He means well,” Harry says, finally putting his wand down onto Blaise’s desk. “He was worried, I think.”

“What was it like for you?” Blaise asks, suddenly struck by a thought. Maybe Draco has sent him a gift after all. “When you knew you liked Draco but thought you couldn’t be together?” Harry frowns a little bit at this question and for a second, Blaise wonders if he’s made a mistake. He knows that while there was no explicit cheating, what happened over a year ago between Ginny, Draco, and Harry wasn’t exactly black and white. But then Harry just tips his head back and Blaise knows he was only giving the question some thought. 

“Wretched,” Harry says finally. “Ginny and I… we weren’t engaged but it was the expectation of what would happen next. And to make matters worse, Draco was my partner. I couldn’t escape him.”

“You asked to be transferred to another partner,” Blaise recalls, because it had been the talk of the bullpen for days. Potter and Malfoy, the unexpected star team of the Ministry…and Harry, out of the blue, asked for someone new. Draco had been crushed, after eight months of working together seamlessly, when Harry had just tossed him aside. 

“I did,” Harry admits, mouth twisting with regret. “It wasn’t my finest hour. I just didn’t know what else to do. I was with Ginny and I did love her. I felt so guilty that I had strong feelings for someone else. I did the only thing I could think to do.”

“But it wasn’t the right thing,” Blaise finishes and Harry shakes his head. 

“Merlin, no,” he says ruefully. “I was trying to not hurt Ginny. I thought I needed to be loyal to her first. But I fucked up and hurt Draco instead. I nearly lost them both.”

“Was it worse when you couldn’t see Draco?” Blaise asks. He understands the logic - trying to remove the object of temptation. But if it’s anything like Blaise’s experiences, it probably didn’t work effectively. “It didn’t change anything, did it?”

“Not a fig,” Harry says bluntly, his green eyes so incredibly sharp that they look piercing even from behind his glasses. “I just missed Draco instead. The love I had for him didn’t go away, and I then had my feelings of regret and guilt on top of it.”

Blaise just exhales, staring down at the paperwork he still has to complete. He has no interest in doing any of it - he needs his partner, and he’s pretty sure he means more than just the stupid forms. 

“Maybe you should tell her,” Harry says gently. “Whatever happened between the two of you…I’m not really one to talk about messy starts to relationships, but I wouldn’t change having Draco for the world.”

“She won’t talk to me,” Blaise says miserably. “I’ve been trying…I thought originally it was because she wasn’t interested, but I’m starting to think that she does like me, which makes it worse.”

“I’ve known Ginny a really long time,” Harry says, staring down at his shoes. “A really…Most of my life in fact. And trust me, this is something I’ve seen before. She kind of used to do it to me.”

“Yeah,” Blaise says sceptically. He remembers the cherubs in the halls of Hogwarts, Ginny’s panicked face. “When you were twelve .” But Harry just grins, all boyish charm and dimples, and yeah, maybe Blaise can understand the appeal a little more now. 

“Maybe,” he says in amusement. “But it’s not that different. Sometimes, despite all of her competency and confidence, Ginny still responds to shit like this the same way she always did. I think she likes you and she’s scared.”

“But why?” Blaise asks, because this is something that keeps him up at night. He’s not exactly one to talk - he can’t remember the last time he felt this strongly about someone, a possibility that he chose himself and wasn’t one of the many young eligible witches that his mother keeps pushing at him. 

“My fault, a little I guess?” Harry says sheepishly. “Our relationship didn’t end as well as I would have liked it to. We didn’t really expect it to end at all. Everyone thought after Hogwarts, we’d go all the way. She was hurt…still is, to be honest, even though she doesn’t let it show.”

Blaise doesn't even need to ask if Harry feels guilty about that, when it's plain that he does. He's a decent guy, and he obviously still cares about her. He might not love her in that way, but she's family to him, just like the rest of the Weasleys.

“Does Draco think that she started working here to get close to you?” Blaise asks, because the moment that it's crossed his mind, he can't get rid of it. It's possible, even though it doesn't feel like the kind of thing the proud, independent Ginny would do.

“He used to,” Harry says, in a tone heavy enough that there must have been some arguments behind it. “I get it. He thought he might lose me before he even really had me. But he was wrong…everyone is. I know what they all think.”

“So why did she?” Blaise pushes. He needs to know that nothing about this is to do with Harry. If it is, he knows that he already lost. There's no good ending to a fight like that. 

“It was me,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Just…not directly? She was getting a lot of harassment after we broke up. Being a Chaser…it was too exposed. Too close to the public. It wasn't her fault, any of it, but…well, you know how the media is.” Blaise nods grimly. He knows. And even though Harry had ended it, people still preferred to view Ginny as the culprit. Rita Skeeter hadn't helped, more than happy to add fuel to the fire with salacious and untrue headlines. Harry had forced her to make a retraction but it had been too late, and the damage was done. 

“I've fucked up a lot,” Harry says, meeting Blaise's gaze head on. “I hurt her and then because of who I am, she had to give up something she loved for her own safety. She does well here but I think she could be happy. I don't want you guys to stop when you might be able to have that.”

“Is that okay?” Blaise asks hesitantly. It still feels as though Harry has a claim on Ginny, even though they’re no longer a couple and he’s long been with someone else. It’s as much of a claim as her brothers might have, and that anyone wanting to try needs permission to even think of it. 

“Hey, I’m dating your best mate and I didn’t ask permission,” Harry snorts. But he’s smiling and Blaise feels a little relieved. “And if you’re worried about Ron and the others…they learnt a very long time ago that Ginny will date who she wants. Go tell her first and then worry about Weasley dinners.”

“Should I be?” Blaise asks. Harry just pushes himself up from the chair with a smirk. 

“Why don’t you ask Draco?” he suggests, grabbing his wand from the desk and sending the chair flying away, back to where it came from. “You can ask him then if he’s forgiven me yet.”

The Ministry isn’t so big that someone can hide forever. And when Blaise has searched the break rooms, the archives, the cafeteria, and has had poor old Louella from Magical Artefacts check the ladies bathrooms, he has to admit that Ginny isn’t here. 

He needs to let go, he thinks, gathering up his files to store away. It’s time. Whatever fledging friendship - or even something more - that he and Ginny might have been on the cusp of, it’s been ruined now. 

But it still hurts, a gentle, ever-present ache that follows him all the way down to the main Atrium to Floo home. What is worse , he wonders. Pining for months over someone you cannot have, as Harry did, or lose something you barely had after only a few days? He’d barely even had enough time to come to terms with wanting Ginny before she was gone. 

His house is dark and quiet. His mother’s house elves sometimes come over to clean and tidy up, but other than him, there’s no other living creature in this house. Normally, he doesn’t mind, free of responsibility, but today the house just feels lonely. 

He throws himself down onto the sofa, not even bothering to turn the lights on. In the back of his mind there’s the usual routine, thoughts of dinner, an evening tipple, and a hot bath, but he can’t really find it in himself to move. 

“Maybe I should get an owl,” he says to himself and then reluctantly drags himself up. 

He takes a cup of tea to the bath, and then when it’s done running, returns back downstairs to get a glass of Bogden’s Best. He can drink both, he reasons, and sinks into the deliciously hot water. It’s a relief after such a long week to just lie there, listening to the distant sounds of the street outside and letting the water soak into his bones. 

He pulls himself out when the water begins to cool, and dries and redresses in something comfortable. He needs to think about food, but with the case - and everything else that’s happened this week - his cupboards are far from stocked. 

“Takeout it is,” Blaise says and then curses internally. He never normally talks to himself, but it’s clearly becoming a habit. 

He orders from a local restaurant and sits down once again, trying to focus on the Daily Prophet. He wonders briefly if there will be a piece about the case, or if the Ministry will try and hush it up entirely, given that one of their own was involved in something so scandalous. Blaise reaches for his fresh mug of tea and privately thinks that senior ministers have survived their careers with far harsher black marks against their names. 

Someone presses the doorbell, dragging Blaise away from an article about reforms to magical law. He collects some Galleons from the dish he keeps on a bookshelf for this purpose but the person at the door is not someone he was expecting at all. 

“Hi,” Ginny says, nervously. She’s dressed in Muggle clothing again, a denim jacket thrown on over her t-shirt. To Blaise’s surprise, she’s also wearing a skirt, some cute flippy thing that might be seen in a fashion magazine. 

“Hello,” Blaise says wearily and tucks the galleons into his back pocket. “You’re not my takeaway.”

“No,” she says, blinking in surprise. “I’m not. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Blaise says and then looks down the dimly lit street. She must have Apparated here but he has no idea how she got his address. 

Actually, he does have some idea, and it’s dating her ex-boyfriend. 

“Can I come in?” Ginny asks, before he can extend the invitation himself. He takes a step back and gestures her inside, even though his stomach is churning somewhat. She’s spent so long avoiding him that surely her coming to his house can only be bad news. 

“Sorry if I’ve disrupted your evening,” Ginny says, standing awkwardly in his front hall. He shows her into the living room, because he’s not all that sure he can stand the inevitable conversation before she’s even made it inside his house. 

“It’s fine,” Blaise says shortly. “I just ordered some food.”

She perches on the edge of the sofa, looking no more at ease. And there’s absolutely no reason why she should, when he has spent days trying to talk to her, and all she’s done is run. 

“I am sorry,” she says sincerely. “I don’t…I panicked. You can probably guess.”

“I did,” Blaise says, lowering himself down beside her. It’s not the largest sofa, and it forces their knees to be mere inches apart. Blaise presses himself back against the arm, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. “It wasn’t just you freaked out by what happened, you know.”

“I know,” she says quietly, looking ashamed. “I’m really sorry. I just…needed space to sort it all out.”

“And did you?” Blaise prods. 

“I think?” Ginny says hesitantly. She raises a hand to play with the ends of her hair, smoothing it down over and over. “It’s a lot. It sort of forced me to face some things I wasn’t really ready for.”

“About Harry?” Blaise asks, his heart sinking a little. He’d always wondered if maybe she still had feelings for Harry. It wouldn’t be totally unexpected. But Ginny just makes a face. 

“Not really?” she says and then sighs heavily. “Yes, a little. I know I said I’ve dated since we broke up and I have. But it wasn’t all that serious and I wasn’t even that upset when we broke up. I think if I really cared, I would have been?”

“So, is it Harry?” Blaise asks, dreading the answer. Ginny just shakes her head, glossy waves of red falling across her face as she does so. 

“No, I don’t have feelings for him like that,” she says. “And I know what everyone thinks. But I had to give up Quidditch because of what had happened. Being an Auror was the only other thing I could imagine myself doing and I wasn’t going to let my ex and his new boyfriend scare me out of it. I know that they never would have consciously tried to, or at least Harry wouldn’t…”

“Draco wouldn’t either,” Blaise tells her. Draco might not be the most comfortable with her in the office, but he wouldn’t have risked his relationship with Harry by hurting someone he cared about. “But if you put a penis on his desk, you might be fair game.” This gets a small smile out of her. 

“Maybe we’ll get to that point some day,” she says ruefully. “It doesn’t seem like it now but…maybe.”

Privately, Blaise doubts it. Maybe something easier than the slightly tense atmosphere in the office they have now, but it’s still a long way off. He’s not sure that there are any double dates in their future. 

“Anyway,” Ginny says firmly. “Long story short, I just didn’t know what to do. At first I thought that we had been forced into something like that and what it might do for my career if it got out. And then after I calmed down, I sort of realised that I’d really wanted to do that.”

“And that was bad?” Blaise asks, because while he’d had a similar train of thought it had only been a relief to realise the reasons behind it. The perfume may have gotten him to the realisation quicker than he might have otherwise, but everything had already been set in motion. He was attracted to her, and the opportunity to work with her only showed him her many other excellent qualities. They’re a good match. His mother might even be pleased. 

“No,” Ginny says, distantly. “It’s just been such a long time since I wanted something like that. He’s apologised a thousand times but Harry hurt me. Possibly more than anyone else has ever hurt me. I know he didn’t mean it…”

“It just doesn’t make it any better,” Blaise finishes. Somehow he’s stopped trying to keep distance between them, sliding across the space so their knees are bumping against each other. It’s fine - before he felt like he needed to keep away from her. He doesn’t think she’d protest so much now. 

“It makes it worse,” Ginny snorts. “He’s normally a good bloke. I suppose when it’s someone we don’t expect to hurt us, it sucks even more when they prove they are, in fact, human.”

The doorbell rings and they both jerk, startled. Blaise realises belatedly that they’ve both had their hands on their laps, fingers creeping across towards each other. Given another minute or two, Blaise might have found the courage to take her hand. 

“I’ll get it,” Blaise says and pulls himself up. “It’s just my food. I’ll be right back.” 

He hurries out into the hall, because he can’t bear the idea of her moving or having second thoughts. He whips the bag away from the delivery guy and presses more Galleons than necessary into his hands. He flings the bag onto a table in the hallway and bolts back into the living room. She looks up, noticing his empty hands. 

“Was that your food?” she asks, while Blaise hurries to sit back down. For fucks’ sake, if he’d know how this evening was going to go he’d have choked down a stale piece of bread instead just to spare themselves the interuptions. 

“Yes,” he says, and he’d forgotten the bag of containers the moment he’d chucked it down. He’s lost his appetite somehow. “It's fine. You were saying?”

“I can go…” she starts and Blaise reaches out to grab her hand, just to keep her here. He’s spent several nights wishing he’d managed to do the same in the evidence room. 

“Please don’t,” he says, meeting her eyes. This time he needs her to understand that it’s not just her feeling all of those things. His mother always told him he was over-dramatic but he genuinely might die if she leaves again. “I really… really don’t want you to go.”

There’s no perfume this time, thank Merlin. This is more how a first kiss should go, soft and sweet and searching. Something that needs reassurance from both sides and becomes more confident as it grows. Ginny shrugs off her denim jacket without breaking the kiss, but it doesn’t work when the t-shirt inevitably comes off. His soon follows and she’s quick to run her hands across his chest, back, and stomach. The evening is looking up. The food can be reheated later, to eat in bed. 

“We should look at some of those items for ourselves,” Ginny says between kisses. He’s thrown her t-shirt onto the back of the sofa and is working on her bra straps. This time there’s no knocking on the door to interrupt them and he manages to unhook the offending item in question. 

She does moan when he puts his mouth to her breasts and there’s a brief interlude when Blaise completely forgets about what she was saying. 

Well. If the offer is there, he’s not against trying some of those products out. But first, he’d like to proceed the traditional way, without any toys or assistance or blindfolds. 

He pulls her up from the sofa, noticing that she’s half naked. He needs to catch up. But it’s really hard to focus with her lidded eyes set on his, her pert nipples still glistening with saliva. 

“I’m not so sure we can go back to that shop,” Blaise murmurs against her cheek. He’s gently sliding her out of her skirt, letting it carelessly drop to the floor. She’s wearing a pretty pair of panties, something red with a lace accent, and Blaise can’t wait to see what’s underneath. 

“That’s okay,” Ginny says and then, proving that she is the most amazing girl he’s ever met, steps back and drops her knickers to the floor herself. There’s nothing left on her except a smile and a long curtain of red hair flowing over her breasts. “They do owl-orders. I checked.” 

Blaise gets in early and shoves the relevant forms under Prudence’s door. He strolls away, merrily whistling, to put the kettle on. He needs a cup of tea and a large muffin from the basket set out on the table. Maybe two, because he’s earned it. 

The muffins are delicious and moist, large chunks of blueberries, with just a hint of lemon zest. Blaise polishes it off and then reaches for a banana nut muffin. For some reason, he has quite an appetite this morning. 

He sips his tea, listening keenly for any sounds in the hallway. People have started to appear by the time he’s had his second mug of tea, a low hum of chatter from the bullpen, as people sit down at their desks, and search for the necessary files for the day. 

He has no open cases. Chances are he’ll be back on desk duty, until Theron is cleared for duty by a Healer. 

He’s just licking crumbs off his fingers when he hears the click of Prudence’s boots in the hall. There will only be a matter of minutes before she finds and reads the forms. 

As it turns out, it’s less than that. 

“Out,” Prudence snaps, appearing in the doorway like a dark cloud. Serena and Adam drinking pumpkin juice, take one look at her and vanish. Prudence shuts the door behind them and locks it with a silent command. 

“Good morning, Prudence,” Blaise says politely.

She doesn’t respond, just smacks a few pages down onto the table. Blaise doesn’t even have to lean forward to see what they are but a few words are visible from here. DECLARATION OF CONFLICT OF INTEREST , amongst other things. The signatures at the bottom are crystal clear and Blaise only just manages to stop himself from smirking. 

“I’m glad you’re amused,” Prudence grumbles, sitting down in the chair opposite. “You do realise I was planning on making you and Ginevra partners for the rest of the week?”

“Really?” Blaise says, because he had suspected as much. Prudence scowls and jabs a finger at his handwriting, stark black in quill ink at the bottom of the page. 

“You also realise that I now can’t do that?” she presses. Blaise curls his hands around his mug. They’d considered it, of course. Just a little white lie, and no one would know the wiser. But they work with too many clever people, and people who already know that something is afoot between them, and it would all fall apart. 

“A preemptive strike,” Blaise had suggested, running his fingers lazily through her hair. It was strewn across the pillow, a brilliant red against the cream of his elf-made silk pillowcases. “They’ll never expect it.”

But Ginny is apparently an expert at that sort of thing, throwing a bare leg across his waist and sliding her body suggestively against a certain part of his anatomy.

“I understand that,” Blaise agrees and sips his tea. The less he says, the better. 

You will have to remain on desk duty,” she says forcefully. “And Ginny will have to wait for the next pool of new recruits from the academy to get her own partner?” 

“We understand,” Blaise says again. They'd discussed it at length- once they were slightly sticky and breathless - and again over breakfast. But Ginny has been partnerless for a while as she learns the ropes, and in a few months she might be allowed to pair with someone fresh out of the training programme. All she's losing is a week of being able to go out on cases with someone available. 

Prudence just shakes her head, looking so resigned to what’s happening it makes him think she really might have seen it coming. 

“Do I want to know?” she asks, folding her hands over the page where he and Ginny signed their names. “What happened with you two since I gave you this assignment in my office?”

Blaise raises his mug so she can’t see the wicked upturn of his lips. There’s not one aspect of the past week that he can tell her, not when it culminated in how he and Ginny fell into bed together. Draco might give him shit for it, when there was no prolonged tension between them the way it was for him and Harry. But maybe there didn’t need to be - Blaise had the one taste and wanted more. Maybe that was worse. 

She did taste as good as he’d thought. She also wrapped her legs behind his back and clawed against the sheets. 

“You really don’t,” he tells her and says no more on the matter.