“What is the meaning of all this?” Blaise demanded shortly after he stepped out of the floo. He looked at the numerous arrangements of flowers that had turned his sitting room into a sorry excuse for a floral shop in horror. “Oh god, you’ve put the wretched things on my desk? That desk is worth more galleons than either of you make in a bloody year!”

He cringed as he saw the rose petals falling on to his restored hardwood floors and felt sick to his stomach when he noticed water leaking onto the seventeenth century table that he’d inherited from his third stepfather. He glared at the two people responsible for this nightmare and added a sneer for good measure when they failed to look repentant.

When Potter had the sheer audacity to grin like some foolish oaf, Blaise narrowed his gaze, pretty sure that he must look quite handsome at the moment since he knew his eyes took on a golden glow when he was really angry or annoyed. If he had to suffer such ridiculous emotions, at least he could look good doing so. The soft giggle was not the stammering apology or begging for forgiveness that he had envisioned hearing, however. His gaze focused on the wild haired minx that dared to giggle when he was sneering.

“You’re primping, Blaise,” she pointed out with an infuriatingly smug smile that made him want to wipe it off her lips.

“I do not primp, Granger,” he denied as he arched his brow and curled his lip in a more pronounced sneer. She still wasn’t trembling in fear, damn it. Potter was laughing now, which was an affliction for everyone because he had this horrible snorting laugh that wasn’t at all melodious.

“I told Harry that the flowers were too much,” she continued as if he’d not even spoken, which only made him more aroused.

No, not aroused. Angry. Right. He was angrier at being dismissed by the annoying bint. She glanced at Potter, who smiled sheepishly and made Blaise roll his eyes. Stupid bloody Gryffindors. How had his life come to this? Visions of Pansy’s wedding to Weasley and the nauseating sea of freckles and red hair that had forced him to seek refuge with Granger and Potter at the bar filled his mind. Well, actually, it was visions of Potter’s lips around his cock and Granger’s flushed face as she came all over his fingers but he preferred to blame Pansy.

“Flowers seemed like a good idea,” Potter said, which thankfully interrupted the memories that were not helping Blaise stay focused.

“A good idea?” Blaise repeated in a snide tone that had made many cower before him. “You had a good idea? That should have been your first clue that something was wrong.”

Potter’s goofy smile faded and he glared back, which made him far too attractive. Before he could attempt to verbally retaliate, which always provided amusement, Granger interrupted. “My idea was much less floral,” she said in that bossy ‘Boys, stop it now or you’ll both be punished’ tone that really just provided them both with justification for acting like immature first years.

“Idea for what?” he demanded to know, hating the fact that they both seemed to know something he didn’t, which was very rare and always infuriating.

“You’ve forgotten?” Granger asked with a frown. There was no mocking or deliberateness, which made him realize he might have been focused on the wrong thing.

He glanced at Potter who was still glaring and now looked as if his favorite broom had been broken. Oh, bloody fucking hell. Blaise dusted invisible lint from the pristine white fabric that was pulled across his shoulder and lazily unfastened the top button of his shirt as he rapidly thought about everything that had been happening in their lives lately. Granger had been given some boring research project that had practically made her cream her knickers, which had resulted in jealousy, though he’d deny it ,and a weekend of intense shagging that had left her saying ‘what project’. Potter had donated some ridiculously large sum of galleons for charity, of all things, and had been bouncing around like an excited puppy due to his good deed, two words that made Blaise shudder in distaste. There was nothing in particular that would warrant a sitting room full of disgustingly bright flowers.

Flowers. He bit his lip as he recalled the large arrangement of roses that had been delivered to Pansy that morning by Weasley. They’d smelled up the entire front office and he’d considered drafting a rule that no employee was allowed to receive flowers at work. However, it was the two words on the silly magical card that made him realize he had probably just fucked up in the Land of Goody Goody Gryffindors. Happy Anniversary. It couldn’t possibly have already been a year, though, so Weasley had obviously fucked up, which wasn’t surprising.

A glance at Granger and Potter made him realize that theory was wrong. God, what was the world coming to when Weasley fucked up wasn’t an accurate defense? Somehow he didn’t think ‘I don’t do anniversaries’ would be sufficient right now. “Of course I haven’t forgotten,” he finally said, accompanied by his most distracting wicked smile.

“Liar,” Potter accused as he stepped closer. “He forgot.”

“I did not,” Blaise denied.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did-”

A sharp whistle interrupted their bickering. Blaise licked his lips as he glared at Potter before he looked at Granger. “You forgot,” she said simply.

“You forgot, too,” Potter murmured, obviously hoping to deflect any sort of non-enjoyable punishment.

His words made Blaise smile triumphantly as Granger flushed and scowled at Harry. “Oh, did you?” he drawled as he smirked.

“I’ve never been good with dates,” she muttered crossly, which made Blaise’s smirk grow even more pronounced.

“Now that we’ve established that, can we please get those blasted flowers off of my favorite table?” Blaise asked, content that this matter was resolved and silly things such as anniversaries, especially when they hadn’t really acknowledged that they were actually a they, were no longer part of their vocabulary.

“No,” Granger said as she smiled that smile and walked forward. Potter was suddenly behind him and Blaise felt capable hands unbuttoning his shirt. He certainly didn’t whimper when blunt nails scratched his skin or twisted his nipples with more force than necessary. She leaned up and licked his lips teasingly before she smirked. “After all, the flowers were just the initial idea for a gift.”

“Oh?” he asked in what he hoped was a disinterested tone and not a breathy ‘please touch me please touch me’ tone. He hated to beg. It was so common and weak.

“Harry suggested flowers but I had a feeling they’d not appeal to you,” she said as she stepped back and waved her wand. Blaise felt leather wrap around his wrists as his arms were suddenly pulled above his head. Potter licked his spine and bit his shoulders as he pulled on the leather bindings. He watched her summon a candle from the bedroom and gasped when she tilted it to let hot wax drip down his bare chest. She smirked as he bucked forward into Potter’s hand and Blaise felt his lips curling into a wicked smile despite his best intentions to scowl at her. “I knew that you’d prefer leather and candlelight.”

End