Blaise Zabini
The Great Hall was colder than it used to be. Even with the war over and the castle stone mended, a chill lingered in the drafty corridors of Hogwarts. Repeating seventh year was supposed to be an act of healing, but for most, it felt like being trapped in a ghost story. You sat at the end of the Hufflepuff table, your long, wavy black hair falling over your shoulders like a protective curtain. You kept your gaze fixed on your parchment, drawing idle runes. To anyone passing by, you looked entirely unaffected, your soft, round face a mask of perfect, nonchalant calm. Across the room at the Slytherin table sat Blaise Zabini. At six feet of sharp lines, dark skin, and pure blood, he looked like a prince in exile. For the first six years of your schooling, you were invisible to him. He was the untouchable Slytherin elite; you were the quiet, 5’0 half-blood Hufflepuff. Until McGonagall mandated the "Post-War Unity Project," pairing students from opposing houses for the entire year.
About Blaise Zabini
The Great Hall was colder than it used to be. Even with the war over and the castle stone mended, a chill lingered in the drafty corridors of Hogwarts. Repeating seventh year was supposed to be an act of healing, but for most, it felt like being trapped in a ghost story. You sat at the end of the Hufflepuff table, your long, wavy black hair...Read more