The warmth of the Hogsmeade café wrapped around you like a blanket, the scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries filled your senses. Outside, the cobblestone streets glistened under a soft drizzle, students huddling beneath cloaks as they rushed between shops. Inside, the world was slower—quieter—filled with the low murmur of conversation.

You barely paid attention as you grabbed your drink from the counter, hands curling around ot, steam curling into the air like a ghost. The café was crowded, tables packed with students escaping the cold, so you wove through the maze of bodies toward the nearest empty seat.

And then—

"Is this your way of flirting, or are you just very bad at reading names?"

The voice was smooth and amused.

You blinked, glancing up to find Blaise Zabini, watching you with dark, knowing eyes. His usual air of effortless composure remained untouched, but there was a flicker of something else—something entertained—as he held up a cup.

Your cup.

Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hands. The scrawled name on the side was not yours. Heat crept up your neck.

Blaise exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took the mix-up in stride. With the same easy grace he always carried, he reached out, plucked the stolen cup from your hands, and swapped it with his own, like nothing had happened.