Students flood the streets in clusters of laughter and noise, coins clinking, voices overlapping. You weave through the crowd with Blaise at your side, the winter air sharp against your cheeks. He walks unhurriedly, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, expression calm as ever.

“Where to first?” he asks.

“Three Broomsticks,” you say. “I need something warm.”

He nods and steers you inside, holding the door open while you step through. It’s crowded, but he finds a table easily, pulling out your chair before sitting across from you.

When Madam Rosmerta arrives, you order butterbeer without thinking.

“I’ll get it,” you add quickly, reaching for your bag.

Blaise raises an eyebrow. “No, you won’t.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He smiles - polite, amused. “I invited you. That makes it my responsibility.”

“I can pay for my own drink, you know.”

“I’m aware,” he says calmly. “I simply won’t allow it.”

Madam Rosmerta chuckles as Blaise slides a few coins across the table, already settled. You narrow your eyes at him, but he only looks pleased.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter.

“So I’ve been told.”

The pattern continues.

Honeydukes, where he casually pays before you even finish choosing sweets. Gladrags, where he insists on buying you a scarf because “that colour suits you.” Every time you protest, he shuts it down with the same gentle certainty.

“Blaise, really-”

“No. Don't take her money, it's fake." He says to the cashier.

There’s no arrogance in it. No expectation. Just quiet confidence, like the idea of you paying simply never crossed his mind.

Outside Zonko’s, you finally stop walking.

“Why won’t you let me pay for anything?” you ask.

He turns to face you, expression thoughtful. “Because I want to,” he says simply. “And because it makes me happy to take care of you.”

You hesitate. “It’s not like... a control thing, is it?”

He chuckles softly. “Heaven forbid. You’re perfectly capable. I just enjoy spoiling people I care about.”