So I started writing this as a potential pinch-hitter fic for the The DG Forum's 2017 summer exchange. Then the original prompt writer came through, so now I'm just finishing it because the idea amuses me, and who am I to deny the DG writing muse? The prompt that inspired this can be found at the end.

The Flood

It had started out of desperation. Blaise had just broken up with his long-time girlfriend and needed someone to move in fast to help cover the rent; Ginevra Weasley was a sort-of friend—okay, an acquaintance of an acquaintance who he'd maybe considered shagging once when he was sixteen, even if he'd also had a zero percent chance of getting her knickers to drop. But he digressed. Fact was, he'd known she was looking for a new place. As the star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, she was hardly home anyway and had been getting tired of trying to maintain her apartment while she was travelling—or so had been the goss. Blaise had thought her perfect: an invisible source of money who would pay his rent and never get in his way. Couldn't have been better.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

Weasley didn't do invisible. Even when she wasn't there, her presence spread through his fancy apartment like a brilliant flood of red—adding a quirky ornament there, changing the colours of walls, curtains and cushions as the mood suited, and just in general imprinting herself all over their shared space as if she didn't give a damn where the lines had been drawn and if it bothered him. Probably because it didn't. The woman was a ballsy, no-cares force of vibrancy. Sadly, he'd come to kind of appreciate that about her.

That was the problem with dealing with a flood: you couldn't help but get swept up in it. Before he'd even realised how far he'd sunk to the dark side, "Weasley" had become "Ginny", he'd started counting down the days to when she'd be occupying her room again on the off-chance that she might decide to cook (because eating Ginny Weasley's food made "foodgasm" seem like a real thing), and he'd even stopped getting an eye twitch when he came home to find all of the décor had changed. Mostly.

Okay, not really. That still pissed him off (because he liked the understated, modern look, thank you very much, no matter how often she claimed it was boring and said he had the personality of a plank of wood), but whatever. Some battles weren't worth fighting. The point was that he could no longer deny the truth: he and Ginny were friends—house buddies in the true sense of the phrase. They fought, they laughed, and they coexisted like two peas in a pod.

So when she took a Bludger to the head during a game and was ordered to take time off from Quidditch to recover, Blaise wasn't as upset as he should have been to learn his invisible Rent Girl would be around a lot more. In fact, the only real problem was that her increased presence had meant a third pea had wormed its way into their little pod for two. Three, as everyone knew, was a tricky number to balance.

Blaise frowned at the blond sitting on his chair, drinking from his favourite cup, and bantering with Ginny about something stupid. Somehow, it always ended up like this. Blaise couldn't say that he was impressed. He'd never liked sharing—not his toys, not his food, and definitely not his friends. Granted, both Draco and Ginny were important to him, but that wasn't the point. The point was that it looked as if Draco had also got caught up in the flood that was Ginny Weasley, except that idiot had sunk much, much deeper.

That wasn't friendly appreciation he saw sparking his friend's eye. That was the stirrings of attraction. If things continued in this fashion, Blaise might find himself the only pea in his pod.

Something had to be done.

Tasha's Prompt #1

Basic premise: Ginny moves in with Blaise Zabini (housemates not lovers). Draco pops in for coffee/wine/tea/dinner far more often than is entirely necessary.

Must haves: a shared cigarette and an early morning stroll.

No-no's: No outraged/ridiculous Weasley family reactions.

Rating range: whatever works.

Bonus points; Draco's excuses getting more and more far fetched.