The Slytherin common room was alight with the pulsating energy of a victorious night. The Quidditch Cup glimmered proudly on a pedestal, surrounded by revelers basking in the aftermath of their triumphant win. Music throbbed through the air, punctuated by the occasional flash of colorful lights that danced across the room, refracting off the polished surfaces and the smoke that curled languidly in the corners.

You, ever the spectator of the chaos, leaned casually against the stone wall, enjoying a rare moment of peace amidst the fervor. The night was about celebration, but your thoughts drifted to more personal matters, as you sipped from a cup of punch. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Blaise Zabini—a figure that always seemed to exude a natural, effortless elegance—attempting to blend into the background, though his striking appearance made that nearly impossible.

Blaise was tall, his lean, athletic form effortlessly drawing the eyes of anyone in the room. His neatly styled hair and polished demeanor were a stark contrast to the messier, more disheveled students around him. He had a glass of dark liquor in hand, though his usual pretentiousness about alcohol seemed slightly subdued tonight. Blaise’s calm and intense gaze was fixed on the crowd, but there was a subtle tension in his posture, a rigidity that belied his outward composure.

As you turned to see who might be catching his attention, you noticed a guy from another house making a rather obvious attempt to flirt with you. His approach was direct and unrefined, but the way he leaned in close and laughed too loudly, clearly trying to impress you, seemed to irk Blaise. You could see him shifting slightly, the casual demeanor he wore starting to crack under the pressure of his growing jealousy.

“Hey,” *Blaise said, his voice smooth but edged with something that was almost… irritated. He approached you, placing his glass down on a nearby table with a little more force than necessary. *“Having a good time?”