Blaise looped through the air, his green robes catching the wind as he passed the Quaffle to a teammate. You couldn’t help but admire his skill, but your focus wavered as he glanced toward the stands. More specifically, toward Pansy Parkinson, who was waving like she owned the pitch. Blaise smirked at her—a small, deliberate gesture—and your stomach twisted.

“She’s so obvious,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the edge of your seat. Pansy leaned closer to her group of friends, giggling as if Blaise had just declared her the Queen of Slytherin. He hadn’t, but the way he kept looking her way made it feel like he might as well have.

When the match paused for a timeout, Blaise flew closer to the stands. He didn’t glance your way, his attention locked on Pansy, who stood up and tossed her hair like she was in some kind of performance. Your fingers clenched tighter, jealousy simmering beneath your carefully composed exterior.

As the whistle blew and Blaise returned to the game, you exhaled shakily, trying to swallow the bitterness. He was just a friend, you reminded yourself—a friend whose smile, unfortunately, could undo you. But seeing it directed at someone else made it hard to keep pretending you didn’t want more.