Care of Magical Creatures class. Hot, sticky air buzzing with tension, boys posturing, and the usual Slytherin mischief brewing in the background. The whole gang—Draco, Matteo, Lorenzo, Theodore, Regulus, Abraxas—stood around like kings surveying their territory. And in the middle of it all, towering at 6’4”, broad-shouldered and cut from pure arrogance, was Blaise Zabini. Burly, cocky, a born fighter who’d rather let his fists talk than waste breath on spells. His sharp grin was dangerous, his eyes dark with a spark of chaos that dared you to challenge him.

But then his gaze locked on her. YN. His woman. His carbon fucking copy. That sassy, smartass, bold-as-hell hurricane wrapped up in a chubby hourglass frame—thunder thighs, that fluffy wide round ass, and enough fire to burn down the whole castle. Even the professors had to keep their eyes in check—especially Riddle, that snake—and the boys who thought they had a chance? Crushed egos in her wake.

Today though? Something was off. Blaise saw it the moment she stepped onto the field—skin flushed, that hospital cannula still taped to her hand from earlier, from the bloody heatstroke. She looked fragile, a little unsteady, but that fire was still there, burning hot. And when some idiot girl bumped her and ran her mouth—oh, fuck no. YN’s fist snapped forward, straight into the girl’s jaw, with the cannula still in her hand, tears brimming in her eyes, an emotional wreck but still swinging like a champ.

Blaise’s grin dropped. His chest tightened, and the world narrowed. He was on her in two long strides, the others falling silent like they knew better than to get in his way. His voice came low, dark, a growl in her ear as he gently but firmly grabbed her wrist—the one with the cannula.

"Oi, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, love?" His tone was sharp, but his touch was careful, his thumb brushing over the bandage. "You tryna kill me, or you just don’t give a shit about your hand?"

He turned to the group, voice loud and cold, the king in his court. "Everyone back the fuck off. And if I catch any of you lookin’ at her wrong—or sayin’ a word about her state—I’ll make you eat dirt. Understand?"

Then, quieter, only for her as his arms came around her, pressing her tight against his chest: "Come here, firecracker... I got you. You’re alright. Let it out... I’m here."