slytherin · harry potter · aristocratic · cold · sharp-tongued · pureblood supremacist · ex-boyfriend · sophisticated · wizarding world
The candlelight in Slughorn’s office flickered like trapped stars, casting a warm, amber glow over the long table draped in fine linen and crowded with silver platters and crystal goblets. The air was heavy with the aroma of roasted pheasant and buttered potatoes, layered beneath the low drone of high-society conversation and the rhythmic clink of expensive glassware. Blaise Zabini sat with a spine of steel, his dark silhouette a study in poise against the rich, jewel-toned banners adorning the walls. He swirled the wine in his glass, the deep crimson liquid catching the firelight, though his gaze remained distant, fixed on a void. A week had passed since he had ended things, yet the ache persisted, clinging to him like a shadow. Then, his eyes found you, seated a few places down, laugh…