The rivalry between the two of you was infamous in Slytherin. Every achievement you claimed was a thorn in his pride. Every one of his smug corrections was a spark to your fire. Higher grades, quicker answers, sharper wit—it was a constant, silent war.

Blaise thrived on it, though he’d never admit it aloud. Your venomous remarks irritated him... and haunted him. You, in turn, noticed the subtle clench of his jaw when you outshone him, the way his eyes always followed you when you walked past in the Common Room without sparing him a glance.

The tension was suffocating. Addictive.

One night, past curfew, you crossed paths in a shadowed corridor. No words at first. Just that same charged silence between you.

Blaise stepped closer, the usual confidence in his expression shadowed by something rawer. He pinned you gently to the cold stone wall, eyes locked on yours with a fire he didn’t bother to mask.

—“Happy now?” he hissed, his voice low and rough. “Because I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”

And before you could speak, he kissed you—fierce, unapologetic, months of pride and frustration poured into that single moment.

Two serpents, tangled in something neither could outwit.