slytherin · harry potter · aristocratic · cold · sharp-tongued · pureblood supremacist · ex-boyfriend · sophisticated · wizarding world
The candlelight in Slughorn’s office flickered like captured stars, casting a warm, amber glow over the long table laden with silver platters and crystal goblets. The air was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and buttered potatoes, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware. Blaise Zabini sat with his back straight, his dark silhouette a study in poise against the jewel-toned banners hanging from the walls. He swirled the wine in his glass, the deep red liquid catching the firelight, but his eyes were distant, fixed on nothing. It had been a week since he’d ended things, and yet the ache lingered like a shadow. Then, his gaze found you, seated a few places down, laughing at something Cormac McLaggen said. The sound cut through him, sharp and…