Bleville AI Oneshots

Pureblood Politics

The ballroom was glittering with opulence-crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over the well-dressed crowd. Everywhere Neville looked, there were people who made him feel out of place. His dress robes, a dark green velvet that Blaise had insisted was "just his color," fit too snugly around his shoulders, and the polished marble floor beneath his feet felt like it could crack open at any moment to swallow him whole.

He hated these pureblood gatherings.

"Breathe, Longbottom," Blaise murmured beside him, his voice cool and measured, like he wasn't leading Neville straight into the lion's den. "You look like you're about to bolt."

Neville shot him a glare, though it softened the moment he took in Blaise's appearance. Blaise was all smooth lines and easy grace, his black silk robes embroidered with silver thread that glinted whenever the light caught it. He stood with the practiced elegance of someone born to this life. Everything about him was calculated to perfection.

"I'm fine," Neville muttered, though his pulse quickened as he caught sight of a few witches glancing his way, their gazes narrowing in curiosity.

"Just remember," Blaise continued, a smirk pulling at his lips as they moved deeper into the ballroom, "we're here to make a scene. The more uncomfortable you are, the better it'll look when I pretend to comfort you."

Neville rolled his eyes. "How reassuring."

It had been two months since Blaise had approached him with the idea of their fake relationship-two months of showing up to events like this, arm in arm, playing the part of an unlikely couple. At first, Neville had been wary. Blaise was arrogant, sharp-tongued, and far too smooth for his liking. But he couldn't deny that there was a strange thrill in ruffling the feathers of the pureblood elite, forcing them to reckon with the idea of Blaise Zabini, pureblood prince, dating the likes of Neville Longbottom.

They walked together through the crowd, Blaise keeping a steady hand on Neville's back, guiding him with a familiarity that had started to feel unsettlingly natural. Every time Blaise leaned in to whisper something snide about one of their hosts, or shot Neville a secretive smile when someone looked particularly scandalized by their pairing, Neville felt a flicker of something he couldn't quite name.

It was infuriating.

"Ah, Blaise," came a voice dripping with false warmth. Lady Selwyn, an ancient pureblood matriarch with a tight bun and even tighter smile, approached them. Her sharp eyes flicked over Neville like he was something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe. "So lovely to see you again. And you brought... company."

Blaise's smile turned sharp. "I wouldn't attend without my date."

Neville swallowed, trying not to look like he'd rather be anywhere else. Blaise squeezed his shoulder gently, a move so subtle that no one but Neville noticed. The touch was supposed to be reassuring-part of the act-but it sent a warmth spreading through Neville's chest that left him momentarily breathless.

"Mr. Longbottom," Lady Selwyn said, her voice stiff as she turned to him, "such a... pleasant surprise. I hear your Herbology work has been... commendable."

Neville forced a smile. "Thank you. I've been working with some of the rarer magical plants these days. It's-"

"I'm sure it's riveting," she interrupted, clearly uninterested. Her eyes flicked back to Blaise. "It's rather bold of you, Blaise, bringing him here. One would almost think you're trying to prove a point."

"Am I?" Blaise replied smoothly, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of Neville's back. "I'm simply spending time with someone whose company I enjoy."

Neville's heart skipped. Blaise was playing his part perfectly, but there was something in the way he said it-something that felt less performative, more sincere. He forced himself to stay composed as Lady Selwyn made a few more clipped remarks and moved on to the next conversation.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Neville exhaled. "Merlin, she's terrifying."

Blaise chuckled, his hand lingering on Neville's back a moment longer before he pulled away. "She's worse when she actually likes you."

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the party around them fading into the background. Neville could feel the weight of Blaise's gaze on him, intense and thoughtful, and it made his skin prickle.

"You're doing well, Longbottom," Blaise said, his voice quieter now. "Better than I expected."

Neville frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Don't take offense. It's a compliment. You've handled these events far better than most people in your shoes would. And..." He paused, his eyes flicking over Neville's face, lingering just a moment too long. "You've surprised me."

Neville swallowed. "Surprised you how?"

Blaise's gaze didn't waver. "You're stronger than I thought."

The words hung between them, heavier than Neville had expected. He wasn't sure what to say. Blaise had always been a mystery to him-too composed, too controlled. But in that moment, Neville saw something slip in Blaise's expression. It was brief, but it was there-a vulnerability, a flicker of something real beneath the mask he always wore.

Before Neville could respond, another couple approached, and the moment passed. But the air between them had shifted, charged with something new, something Neville couldn't quite place.

The evening dragged on, filled with more stilted conversations and disapproving looks. But Neville found himself less focused on the disapproving stares and more on Blaise. His laughter was rare but genuine when it came, and the way his hand always seemed to brush against Neville's arm, or the way his smile softened whenever their eyes met-it made Neville's heart race.

By the end of the night, as they stepped out into the cool evening air, Neville was brimming with questions he didn't know how to ask.

"Well," Blaise said, smirking as they walked down the steps of the manor, "another successful evening of scandalizing the elite."

Neville snorted. "I'm sure they'll be talking about us for weeks."

Blaise turned to him, his expression softening again. "Let them talk. I don't care what they think."

Neville blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. He'd always assumed Blaise cared deeply about his reputation-about maintaining his place in the pureblood world. But here he was, standing in the moonlight, looking at Neville like none of that mattered.

"You don't care what they think?" Neville asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Blaise hesitated, his eyes locking on Neville's. "No. Not anymore."

Neville felt his pulse quicken. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could, Blaise took a step closer, his hand brushing against Neville's.

The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of warmth through Neville's body. He swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest as Blaise leaned in, just close enough for Neville to catch his breath.

"This was never supposed to feel real, Longbottom," Blaise murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I think it does now."

Neville's breath hitched. He looked up at Blaise, their faces inches apart, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to admit what he'd been denying for weeks.

"It feels real to me too."

And with that, the pretense fell away, leaving them both standing there, no longer pretending.