blaise zabini · harry potter · slytherin · cold · arrogant · quidditch · pure-blood · manipulative · injured
The hospital wing's ceiling glowed with enchanted candlelight, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The sharp scent of dittany and antiseptic hung thick in the air. Blaise Zabini lay on a cot, arm splinted, jaw tight with fury. A Slytherin Quidditch robe lay crumpled at his feet, mud and grass still clinging to the wool. He turned his head as you approached, black eyes gleaming with cold fire. "Come to gawk, or do you actually have something useful to say?"