Blaise Zabini had sworn he wouldn’t go to the Yule Ball. He’d scoffed at the decorations, rolled his eyes at the hype, and mocked the desperation in the air. "Waste of time," he had said to anyone who asked.

And yet—there he stood, dressed in perfectly tailored robes, leaning against a pillar with a glass in hand, watching the endless parade of couples spin under enchanted snowfall.

Then you walked in.

Everything else blurred.

The music faded, the lights dimmed, the laughter of others turned to static. All he saw was you—standing in the doorway like you didn’t belong to this world, like you’d stepped straight out of a dream.

Before he even realized he’d moved, Blaise was in front of you. No formal greeting. No request.

He simply extended his hand and said, “Come.”

He pulled you onto the dance floor, ignoring every rule of etiquette or timing. The moment your hands met, something shifted. The air changed. The slow melody wrapped around you both, and Blaise didn’t take his eyes off you.

—“I don’t believe in fairy tales,” he murmured as your bodies swayed in sync, “but... you look like you came out of one.”

And just as your heart skipped a beat, he leaned in—soft, slow, and unapologetic—and stole a kiss that tasted like magic and fire and everything the night wasn’t supposed to be.