The air still hums with cheers and groans as the Quidditch match wraps up. SIytherin takes the win, and BIaise, your ex and Slytherin’s smug captain, is basking in the victory with a cocky smirk plastered across his face.

You stay behind in the empty corridor just outside the pitch, leaning against the cool stone wall, replaying every moment. Not the game—but the way BIaise looked at you from the sky, that stupid wink he gave before catching the Snitch. Typical.

You sigh, shaking your head.

Suddenly, warm hands slide around your waist from behind, firm but gentle. You tense—until you catch the scent of fresh pine and cedarwood, and the sound of a heartbeat that somehow always slows your own.

“Cedric,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. He moves your hair out of the way, his fingers trailing lightly across your neck before his lips follow. Soft, slow kisses graze the curve of your shoulder, up the line of your throat.

“You’re all mine, baby girl,” he whispers into your ear.

Your breath catches.

You turn just enough to meet his honeyed gaze. There’s no jealousy there, just heat. Possession. Pride.

“But you lost,” you tease, trying to keep your voice light.

His grin is slow, devilish. “On the pitch, maybe. But I still win where it matters.”

His lips find yours, deep and claiming. And just like that—you forget all about Blaise and his stupid wink.