Blaise never understood his mothers love of gold.
Her dresses were gold, her nails, her jewelry, with the right potion her eyes. She tried to push the love to Blaise. His crib was the precious metal, his mobile as a child that hanged above his head, and even still today was gold with little gems hanging from silver chains. They way she held her young son in her lap and watch the sky illuminate the color at the end of each day.
Yeah, it was pretty, but Blaise never understood.
Until he was ten.
His Hogwarts letter would be coming in a matter of days, his mother and third step-father were very proud. But naturally his mother was nervous; which is why young Blaise is sitting on the window seat of a seer who lived in a muggle community. Miss Angelica was an old friend of Blaise’s mother, not a witch but a seer beyond reputation (at least says Ms. Zabini).
It was a hot summer, unusual for the English suburbs, so the windows were open wide, warm summer breeze playing the lace curtains in Blaise’s face. He’d move them, but the tickling sensation was pleasant and made him giggle on occasion. Every time he did his mother would join in.
The sounds of the neighborhood, cars passing and children playing, were a wonderful background noise. The lilting laughter of a young boy was especially pretty, Blaise thought.
Then he heard a sharp cry. He couldn’t help but look out.
A boy was sitting on the sidewalk, a stream of red steadily dripping down his skin. The young boy had brown mousy hair, and his pale skin was quickly becoming blotchy from crying.
“Collie!” The child whined. The pitch would suggest the boy would be maybe five. “Collie I fe-he-hell!”
Another boy quickly came to the crying child.
This one looked very different.
This one had blond hair that Blaise (in a ten year old lexicon) could only describe as beautiful. It was shiny and looked like spun sunlight and gold. His eyes were big and doe-like, like in the picture books Blaise had as a toddler, as big as the princesses’ eyes were. But rather than crystal blue or grass green, the boys eyes were a beautiful color of earth brown.
Blaise never knew brown eyes could be so pretty.
But then it got better because the sunlight hit the blond’s face and, oh! They weren’t brown anymore, but gold, molten gold; shinier than any galleon or gem or piece of jewelry his mother could ever own.
“Dennis! It’s okay, it’s okay! Big brother is here!” The boy (who is apparently Collie, but was too pretty in Blaise’s humble opinion to have such a name) shushed his brother and quickly grabbed the bleeding knee.
“Lookie, Dennis! See, magic trick, ready?”
Blaise has to crane his neck a little to see what was going on, the lace curtain was pushed aside.
Collie (it had to be a nickname or something) kisses the back of his hand which was holding the injured knee.
When the hand moved, the knee, which was bleeding and scratched before, was healed. Creamy skin was healed, the only thing to show any sign of injury was the blood trail.
“Wow! How’d you do that Colin?”
Ah, Colin. That’s much better than Collie.
Colin wiped the blood on his cargo shorts, then wiggles his fingers in his brother’s giggling face.
The brothers giggle and laughed and managed to meander their way down the street and Blaise stared on.
Blaise thinks he just saw his first muggle born wizard.
Blaise thinks he’s in love.
Blaise thinks he finally understand his mother’s obsession with gold.
Blaise never understood Draco’s jealousy of Harry Potter.
Not until second year.
Golden Colin came to Hogwarts, no surprise. Blaise has been waiting with bated breath for him to come. Golden Colin went into gold and red Gryffindor. That… really shouldn’t have been as big of a surprise as it was. Blaise was holding out for Hufflepuff (first year was filled with embarrassingly tender and frivolous fantasies of Colin and Blaise and their years at Hogwarts. Blaise wanted Colin. He wanted that happy laughter and smiles and golden hair and golden eyes. Blaise always gets what he wants).
Draco has taken to complaining about Potter, from the train to the dorms, even before Blaise had spotted Colin in the mass of first years.
Blaise brushes off the words with ease for the first few days. If he ever became irritated by the blond’s ramblings he always dipped into the new fanciful thoughts about his golden Colin (a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, how scandalous).
Within the first week of lessons, though, Blaise became much more understanding about Draco’s hatred when Colin flirted and fluttered around Harry, taking pictures and asking questions and beaming that toothy smile at the Boy Who Lived.
Blaise knew, logically, that it makes sense that Colin would look up to Potter. He lived with muggles, defeated the Dark Lord, that whole fiasco last year with Professor Quirell; it really was a no brainer why Colin was so taken with him.
It made Blaise’s blood boil. Jealousy unfurled in his gut as he watched Colin give all his attention to Potter, who was brushing Colin off and ignoring him.
Later that night, Blaise threw himself into his bed in a bout of self-pity.
“What’s so great about Potter anyway.” He hissed through his teeth. “With his stupid scar and his stupid hair.”
Theodore looked up from his book with a spooked expression “I thought you were Draco. Don’t scare me like that, Blaise.”
Blaise just huffed and rolled over. Thinking about how he could become the center of Colin’s attention.
Blaise never understood why Colin took so many pictures.
In Blaise’s third year, Colin’s second, the blond still incessantly carried that blasted camera with him and took pictures of everything around him. Classrooms, foyers, the lake. It got worse when Dennis joined him. (Blaise was expecting Dennis to magical too, just a gut feeling).
Together the brothers scoured and captured every surface of the school in the form of a photo. At meals they would spread their works over the table and pick which ones to send back home and which to keep.
The only reason Blaise knew so much was because ever since Colin’s petrification last year, the Slytherin had been keeping an especially close eye on his.... not his Colin. Not his. Not yet.
What he couldn’t wrap his head around was why Colin enjoyed photography so much in the first place.
He found out why totally on accident, too.
With all the hullabaloo with Sirius Black and the dementors. Blaise felt especially stifled by the school. His common room lost that comforting feeling, the library was constantly packed with other student, it was maddening.
There were several abandoned classrooms in the castle, Blaise knew. Especially in the fifth floor around sunset.
With a bag full of books and scrolls and homework, armed with quills and ink, Blaise shouldered into a random, dark classroom.
He was expecting the swirling dust and the musky smells. Not the gasp of surprise or the sound of shuffling robes.
When Blaise’s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he saw gold and red.
A Gryffindor. A shorter, probably younger Gryffindor. With blond hair and brown eyes and was that a camera on the desk?
“Creevey.” Blaise found himself drawling. “Any reason you’re here.”
Colin floundered, wide-eyed and flushing. Blaise had to suppress a smirk.
“I, uh, I’m allowed to be here!” He stammered, a bit loudly.
Blaise raised an unbelieving eyebrow and waited for Colin to lose his nerve and spill his guts.
So, approximately five seconds.
“Professor McGonagall gave me permission to develop my pictures here, so, I’m not breaking any rules.” He explained, moving back to his photography equipment.
Blaise suppressed an amused laugh. Oh, how adorably naive Colin was.
“I wouldn’t care either way,” he said, moving closer to the second year. “It’s not like I’m a prefect or anything.”
Blaise trailed his eye deliberately down and up Colin’s body before forcing eye contact with him.
“Third years can’t be prefects, Creevey.”
The Gryffindor flushed in the dim light and scratched his neck awkwardly.
“How, uh, how do you know me? I mean, if you’re a third year and I’m a second year we really… wouldn’t have… met?”
He tampered off the longer Blaise stared into him, unblinkingly.
Pulling out his wand and mumbling “lumos”, Blaise finally got a good look at Colin in the blue light.
“Your brother fell in the lake before the sorting hat ceremony.” Hazel eyes flickered to the lion patch on the dark robe. “You were also one of the muggle-born who were petrified last year.”
Colin flushed. “Oh.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow, waiting for Colin to continue.
“You’re… Blaise right? Zambini?”
Half of Blaise was thrilled that Colin didn’t know him. It meant his sneaking around and embarrassing crush went unnoticed for two years. The other half despaired. Colin hadn’t noticed him for two years.
“Zabini.” He corrected softly, no spite in his voice.
Colin flushed deeply. “Sorry, I’m not very good with names-“
Blaise selfishly thought about how Colin knew Harry Potter’s name so well, but kept the bit in his mouth.
“It’s fine. What’s with the film.” The change in subject made Colin’s eye light up like a match. The spur of words that came from Colin made no sense to Blaise, but the smile, the joy in his words, didn’t make Blaise truly to stop him.
Blaise smiled. He supposed he didn’t need to understand Colin’s love of photography, as long as it made him happy.
Blaise didn’t understand why Pucey was such an ass when it came to quidditch.
There was absolutely no need to run, they flew on broom sticks for Merlin’s sake, there’s hardly and physical movement from below the waist!
Blaise hated showering under the cold spray of the locker room’s showers, he hated the early morning and late night practices. He hates being distracted on the field because he’s worried about a certain someone inside the school.
As awful as Umbridge is, at least she’s not stupid enough to take quidditch away entirely. There would be a riot from all fronts if she did that.
Half way through the year of Umbridge’s reign of terror, Blaise had been going out of his way to make sure Colin and Dennis (the younger, bumbling, earnest adorable baby brother of Colin that Blaise wanted to hide from everyone) stayed out of her wrath, bemoaning Colin’s involvement in Dumbledore's Army but never telling him to leave (Merlin help him, Blaise actually help Colin on his technique, any excuse to stand close to him).
At least Colin could keep his camera and his developing room. The elder Creevey brother was so under the radar that he wouldn’t even be surprised if Blaise was the only one beside Dennis who knew Colin was there.
After games were the worst. Especially if they won. Blaise hates loud parties. He was raised where parties were classy social affair with ball gowns and dress robes and polite conversation over elven wine, not passing around a bottle of fire whiskey to sip from with the Weird Sisters blaring out an old radio. Blaise always ducked out early, usually when Draco drunkenly starts to exaggerate how the game really went and how he was the reason they won.
Blaise, rather then slip into his room like usual, he left the dungeons entirely. He saw Colin taking snapshots during the game, and Blaise was eager to see him after the day.
Colin was in the room, carefully measuring potions and chemicals into beakers and tins. Blaise smiled. He reckoned Colin could be a muggle chemist if really wanted, maybe bridge the gap between muggles and wizards (wasn’t that wishful thinking).
“Already getting started on those?” Blaise drawled, smirking at the fifteen year old.
Colin blushes brilliantly in the dim light, either from pride, embarrassment, or (Bliss hoped) attraction.
“I’ve got plenty of good action shots of you. Makes me wish we had a school paper to put them in.” He rushed out, placing what looked like blank pieces of paper into the tins.
Blaise smiled with half lidded eyes and made his way to the blond.
“Shouldn’t, um, doesn’t Slytherin usually throw parties?” Colin stammered. “After you guys win a match?”
Blaise was now officially in Colin’s space. If Colin took a half step back, Blaise would back off. This was their little game, and Blaise couldn’t wait for Colin to let him proceed.
“I thought Gryffindors didn’t go to Slytherin games?”
Colin’s eyes shined in the limited light. “I didn’t go to a Slytherin game, I went to your game.”
He hadn’t stepped back yet. Blaise shuffles foreword.
“Enjoy yourself?” The words were quiet, as low as the light, and filled with so many unspoken meanings.
“I always enjoy watching you play.” A soft smile turns up Colin’s pink mouth and mirth played in his eyes. “You look so angry on the broom, it’s funny.”
Blaise threw a playful scowl at the underclassman and let his hand brush up against the blonds. Colin still hasn’t stepped away.
But he did look a bit fearful. “There supposed to be an eight inch rule.” He warbled out, nervous.
“We’re both boys.” Blaise pointed out.
Colin stilled. “That… doesn’t bother you?”
Blaise sucked down, pressing his lips gently against Colin’s, relishing in the little gasp the blond let’s out.
The Slytherin pulled back sightly. “Not at all.” And pressed back into Colin, who’s pale, sterile smelling hands came up to Blaise’s collar and pulled him closer.
Blaise might hate Pucey and his work ethic but if this is what happens when he win, he’ll suffer through it.
Blaise didn’t understand a lot of things his years at Hogwarts. He didn’t understand Colin’s fierce loyalty, or his deep devotion to his family, or how despite all the ridicule he went through he still smile and was nice to everyone around him. A part of him wished Colin was a little mean, a little vivacious outside of defending others. Blaise watch him from the shadows, stealing long conversations in deep alcoves of the library and bashful progressions of a relationship in abandoned classrooms.
And Blaise would never understand why, despite the fact Colin was a proud muggle born, and despite that he was now in a school seeking to punish and kick out muggle borns, Colin stayed at Hogwarts, his love for magic and his loyalty to the school was more important than the pain the Carrow siblings would deal him.
Blaise pleases and beg, quite demeaning for someone with such a high standing, but Colin was at risk. The blond has even sent Dennis home that year, made his family travel to relatives in Germany to hide from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but he stayed. Blaise wanted to pull his hair out when he saw Colin return after winter break. Whenever Blaise voices his worries and concerns, forgoing his holier-than-thou and aloof attitude, Colin would chuckle fondly and run his thumb firmly over Blaise’s knuckles.
“I can’t leave Blaise, you’re still here.”
And didn’t that just make Blaise want to give up everything and leave. Surely his mother would understand, once she saw Colin with his honey eyes and his golden heart and his fine hay hair.
But what Blaise could never hope to fathom was why on earth Colin snuck out during the battle to fight.
He was barely sixteen, green behind the ears and holding a too big heart in his chest and a wand in his hand. Blaise was supposed to be on his way to safety with Draco. To the dungeons again, or a secret passage outside the school.
Blaise tipped off his green and silver tie, the fabric which wore with pride for years now suddenly felt hot and constructing around his throat. His wand was heavy in his hand, no longer a siphon for his magic but a weapon.
Colin’s back was turned, a man in Black with a horrid mask was aiming at him, and a green light expelled from the top of the Death Eater’s wand.
Blaise rushes foreword, shoving Colin hard against the wall, and Blaise could feel a bit of his life leave him as the green ball of magic passed by him. Instinctively, he shot a curse at the man, sending him flying back into a fray.
“Blaise?” Colin exclaimed, once he had his bearings. “You can’t be here!” Dirty fingers trailed down Blaise’s sharp chin. “It’s not safe!”
The Slytherin wrapped an arm around Colin and pulled him flush to his chest.
“Can’t leave you here. You were supposed to leave!”
Colin shot a spell behind Blaise and pulled him behind a pile of rubble for protection.
“I couldn’t just lay down while everyone was fighting. Hogwarts is my home too!”
Blaise wanted to bang his head o. The nearest flat surface. Of course his Colin, his sweet, brave Colin, wanted to fight, it would be sacrilege not to for him.
At the very least, Blaise wouldn’t let him fight alone.
Blaise doesn’t understand football.
Colin goes on and on about the teams and the rules and invites his brother and father to their small cottage to watch matches on their Telly, but that doesn’t mean he actually understood what was going on.
All he knew is that when the team that wears red and white wins, Colin suffocates him with a vigorous kiss and that’s all that really matters to Blaise.
And he does appreciates when Colin plays footie with himself in their backyard, in the confines of their high dense without his shirt on, kicking the ball up high and bouncing it off his chest and kicking it against the fence. Blaise lounges on a lawn chair and watches the twenty-four year old with a predatory gaze behind a pair of dark tinted glasses.
Colin catches his gaze and laughs, loud and proud and happy.
“I swear one day, I’ll get you to play with me.”
Blaise smirked. “I’ll sooner get you on a broom, Creevey.” He drawled playfully.
Colin let the ball hit the grass and made his way to his live-in boyfriend with a smile. Once he was close enough, the blond leaned down by the waist and pushed up the sunglasses off of Blaise’s face and slid them up his own nose with a smile.
Blaise snatched Colin’s slick with sweat wrist and pulled him down further, pressing his mouth onto the blond’s, relishing in the taste of summer warmth and salt.
Colin pulled away giggling and blushing. “We have neighbors!” He hissed.
“We have a high fence for a reason.” Blaise countered.
Colin kissed Blaise again. “We also have a house, with a couch, shower, and bed.”
“Oh, planning are we?” He teased.
Colin laughed again, pulling Blaise up and towards the house. “Come on, you old snake.”
Blaise didn’t understand Colin entirely, but Colin understood him. That’s more important.