The ballroom shimmered in green and silver, elegant and cold like every Slytherin affair. Floating candelabras cast soft golden light across crystal glasses filled with elven wine, and polished laughter echoed off the high ceilings. It was Pansy P's engagement party—to a pureblood heir chosen more for politics than passion.

You arrived with Blaise Zabini.

From the moment you stepped in, Pansy’s eyes never left the two of you. Every quiet laugh you shared with Blaise, every time he leaned closer to whisper something in your ear—she noticed. Everyone did.

But Blaise didn’t care.

He only seemed to care about you.

After a while, you stepped outside to breathe. The cool night air kissed your skin as you leaned against the marble balcony, the sound of music still echoing faintly behind you.

Then came footsteps.

Blaise joined you, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable to anyone but you.

—“I don’t know why I came,” he said simply, his voice calm, but with something deeper beneath it. “I don’t care about her wedding. I never did.”

He looked at you—really looked.

—“I only came because I wanted to dance with you.”

And without waiting for permission, he offered you his hand, as if the whole night had been leading to that single, quiet moment.