AHHHH!!!! It’s so cool that you’re writing a Ron/Blaise fic! I read a story a long time ago when I was first getting into fanfic and it had Blaise as one of the main characters. That story was so dear to my preteen heart that even if it’s been years I *adore* him. All the different headcanons people have for him and his mom are so cool and it would be awesome to read your take since I adore your writing as well!
“Bloody hell,” Weasley says.
Blaise entirely agrees. He staresat the street outside the shop, and the dusty, deserted interior was already enoughof a sign that something was very wrong, but—
It’s a different KnockturnAlley. A different world. Those robes are at least thirty years out of fashion, and there are no marks of thelast war, slowly being sanded away with time and effort. No memorial on thecorner, either, and Blaise knows that no one in their mind would take that down,no matter what.
“Apparently,” he says, and isalmost surprised when it comes out steady, “she wasn’t joking about breakingtime like glass.”
When he turns away from thewindow, Weasley is pale as snow, gaze fixed on the street. Though, Blaise admits,that could be the blood loss—the wound the witch dealt him is still bleedingfreely, staining his blue robes a crimson-black. He hasn’t seemed to noticeyet, and a very large part of Blaise wants to turn away again, maybe head forthe door and simply leave, but he grits his teeth, restrains a sigh, and stalksacross the floor to crouch at Weasley's shoulder.
“Weasley,” he says, and if it’sa little sharp he thinks he can be forgiven. Not that he cares to be. “Do youknow any healing charms at all?”
“Er.” Weasley blinks, glancingdown at his shoulder, and then blinks again, like the wound is a surprise. “Wellenough, probably.”
Blaise rolls his eyes,unimpressed, and draws his wand, flicking it sharply. Healing spells are simpleenough; he’s had plenty of practice at this point, after the war and theoccupation of Hogwarts and everything that came after. Easy enough to ignore theway Weasley hisses, because the stain has stopped spreading and that’s goodenough for now. Blaise doesn’t want to risk trying anything more complex, notwhen he has no idea what kind of curse it was that left the mark.
“Well?” he asks, rising to hisfeet. He doesn’t bother to offer Weasley a hand. “Is there a DMLE protocol for unexpectedtime travel?”
Weasley groans as he pushes up,catching himself on a column as his balance wavers. “Not that I've ever heardof,” he says, gaze sliding back to the end of the street. “Hermione’d probablyknow.”
“I don’t care whether Grangerwould know,” Blaise says, perfectly steady. “She isn't here. I'm asking becauseyou and I are, and no one else seems to be.”
With a grimace, Weasley steps away, turning tosurvey the interior of the shop. “Don’t be a git, Zabini,” he says.