Title: Challenge

Author: SkoosiePants

1) Ron or Harry being naked
2) A proposal (from anyone to anyone)
3) Apple juice has to be mentioned 4) Someone has to choke on home-made cake/pie
5) Blaise's mum has to make an appearance

Ron and Harry scrambled frantically up the steps, their bare bodies shivering in the cold, both wondering how the hell they’d gotten themselves into this mess. Harry pounded on the wooden door, one hand splayed over his privates, as Ron danced back and forth on the balls of his feet, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder as the snarling barks of the hounds grew closer and closer.

“Hurry up!” Harry cried futilely into the door, fist sore and riddled with splinters.

Suddenly, the door was yanked inward and Harry lost his balance, slamming into the marble foyer floor with the side of his body. Ron jumped over him and ran for the stairs as Blaise, past his initial shock, started laughing hysterically.

“Told you not to take Draco up on that challenge,” he chuckled, reaching down to help Harry to his feet.

“The dogs,” Harry groaned, limping forward. “Merlin, you could have warned us.”

Blaise grinned wickedly. “And ruin all of Draco’s fun?”

“Evil. You’re all pure ev--”

“Blaise Damien Zabini, what on earth are you doing?”

Both boys froze and glanced over at the archway into the living room, Blaise’s mum framed by the white columns, hands on her hips and a disapproving tilt to her mouth.

“Mum, I—“

“Never mind,” she cut in, placing a hand over her eyes and pinching the top of her nose, “I really don’t think I want to know.”

Blaise grimaced as his mother spun away from them and stalked back into the parlor. “Great. She already thought I was making up Hermione, now she’s bound to think I’m gay, as well. Thanks, Potter.”

Harry gave him a strange look. “What do you mean she thought you’d made up Hermione?”

“Just that. She’d heard me going on and on about how perfect the girl was, and automatically assumed I’d made her up.”

“But why?”

“Erm… I had a small lying problem when I was younger.”

Harry stared at him blankly.

“Look, Potter,” Blaise said impatiently, “not that I don’t find this you and Weasley naked thing absurdly funny, but could you run along and find some clothes now before my mum starts shouting at me about shagging in the front foyer?”

“Shag…?” Harry’s mouth dropped open, and then he sprinted up the steps.

******

“So, Harry,” Mrs. Zabini started politely, gazing down the table at him, “how long have you been seeing my Blaise?”

Ron, who’d just taken a huge bite of cake, choked and spluttered, then downed the apple juice Draco shoved in front of his face. Draco sniggered and Ron sent his boyfriend a deathly glare, still really put out about the dirty trick he’d pulled earlier.

“Mum, I’m seeing Hermione,” Blaise stressed in an aggravated voice. “Potter’s her best friend.”

“Yes, I know dear,” she replied, absently patting her son’s hand. “Harry?”

This would have been a whole lot easier if Hermione hadn’t gotten sick at the last moment and insisted they all go on without her. “Mum, I didn’t make her up. Honestly, can’t we just forget about the Amelia incident? I was twelve, for gods’ sake.”

Harry’s eyes glinted speculatively as he bounced his gaze between Blaise and his mother. His smile was slow and decidedly evil. Payback. “Well, I suppose you could say we’ve been seeing each other since, when was it? Sixth year?” Which was just about the time Ron had turned his anger towards Draco into something a bit more productive, and Blaise came out of the woodwork to slobber all over Hermione.

Draco sniggered again, and Blaise’s protests died in his throat as Harry’s hand covered his.

“Almost a year?” Harry went on. His eyes darted to Mrs. Zabini, who looked shell-shocked, but not angry. “I really hadn’t planned on doing this in front of an audience, but Blaise, we’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon and so… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Draco, no longer able to hold back his mirth, burst out laughing, doubling over so his head pitched under the table.

Ron thumped him on his back. “Git,” he growled.

“You’re dead, Potter,” Blaise ground out, rising menacingly from his chair.

Harry’s eyes widened and he was up in a shot, running from the room and skidding across the foyer towards the stairs.

“Coward!” Blaise yelled after him, and then glared at Draco, who had his fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Well,” Mrs. Zabini said, folding her napkin next to her plate and reaching for her wine glass. “I have to say that wasn’t very romantic. You can certainly do better, Blaise.”

“Mum,” Blaise groaned, dropping back down into his chair and knocking his forehead against the tabletop. “I’m going to marry Hermione.”

“You are?” Ron asked, straightening in the high-backed seat.

“Poor Potter,” Draco smirked. “He’ll be heartbroken.”

“Draco, you’re not helping,” Ron stated pointedly.

“Which is exactly the point, dear Weasel,” he replied happily, tugging on a red curl.

Blaise’s mum looked bewildered. “Blaise, is this Hermione real?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all along, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but… Amelia… and then that incident with Vincent… and Harry…” She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

There were several people Blaise now wanted to kill. Harry came first on the list, of course, then Draco, his mum – who seemed to have the memory of an elephant – and finally Hermione, who at least deserved a maiming for talking him into leaving her at Hogwarts under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, and not canceling the trip entirely.

“You know,” Harry said from the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re going to have a good laugh about this someday, Zabini. You’ll see.”

Blaise mentally checked off Harry’s name and lunged for the boy, teeth clenched together and a growl at his lips.

Harry squeaked and fled again, this time with Blaise hot on his heels.

Draco leant back in his chair with a sigh and entwined his hands across his stomach. “Ah, young love.”

Ron shoved him with his shoulder, toppling the blond out of his seat. “Git.”

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