Ginny decided to elevate her playful game, opting for a light, daring outfit that left just enough to the imagination as she moved around the house. With each step, she felt a thrilling mix of confidence and mischief, embracing the freedom of her bold choice. As she strolled past Blaise's study, she suddenly heard a loud crash—something had shattered inside.
Her heart raced, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. She reveled in the idea that her little game was clearly catching him off guard. It was moments like these that added a spark of excitement to their home, turning mundane days into something special.
Feeling emboldened, she continued her leisurely walk, imagining his reactions as she moved through the spaces they shared. This playful banter was new territory for them, and she found joy in pushing boundaries and discovering how far she could take their dynamic. She couldn't help but giggle softly to herself, the sound echoing off the walls, a sweet reminder that she was beginning to feel at home in this new life.
Her new plan? Walking around the house in as little clothing as possible. The thought of it made her smirk. If Blaise thought he could just stay cool and collected, then he was in for a surprise. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't noticed his lingering stares, the way his eyes darkened when she wore something a bit more revealing.
He was a gentleman, sure, but she could tell he was struggling to keep it together.
She started with something subtle—a silk robe, loosely tied at the waist, with absolutely nothing underneath. The smooth fabric clung to her skin as she made her way down the grand staircase, pretending to search for something in the parlor. Blaise had been in his study all afternoon, working as usual, but she knew he'd have to take a break at some point. She waited until she heard his footsteps in the hall before nonchalantly stepping out into the open, her robe parting just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of her bare legs.
She didn't say anything, just smiled sweetly as she walked past him. His eyes flickered down, just for a moment, before he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening. She could almost feel the tension radiating off of him, and it only fueled her mischievous grin. It was working.
But she wasn't done yet.
The next morning, she upped the ante. This time, she strolled around the house in nothing but a lace bralette and a pair of tiny shorts. The outfit left little to the imagination, but it was tasteful—just enough to keep him guessing. As she passed his study again, she didn't even bother to knock. She simply opened the door, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he was in the middle of reviewing paperwork.
She stood in the doorway for a second, pretending to look for something. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw he freeze, his quill halting mid-sentence as he tried—and failed—not to stare. His eyes swept over her before quickly darting back to the parchment in front of him, but the damage was already done.
That's when she heard it. A sharp clink of glass against wood, followed by the unmistakable sound of something shattering. Ginny turned just in time to see Blaise standing behind his desk, staring down at the broken remains of what had clearly been a very expensive glass of bourbon. His usually composed expression was nowhere to be found; instead, he looked completely thrown off, like he'd been caught off guard in the worst possible way.
She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She casually arched an eyebrow at him, pretending not to notice the mess. "Everything alright, Zabini?"
He cleared his throat, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Fine," he muttered, bending down to pick up the pieces of glass. "Just... an accident."
She knew it was anything but an accident. "Hmm," she said, feigning innocence. "You should be more careful."
He didn't respond. His gaze was focused entirely on the shattered glass, but Ginny could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands moved a little too quickly as he cleaned up the mess. For someone who usually exuded confidence and control, he looked surprisingly flustered.
She felt a rush of triumph. Oh, she was definitely winning this game.
For the next few days, she kept the game going. A skimpy tank top here, a pair of low-cut pajama shorts there—just enough to keep him on his toes, but never so obvious that he could call her out on it. She reveled in watching him squirm, the way his eyes lingered on her for just a second too long before he forced himself to look away. It was like she'd flipped a switch, and now he was the one struggling to keep his composure.
One evening, as she walked past his study again, wearing nothing but a silky nightgown, she heard the familiar sound of a glass clinking against a table. She couldn't help but smile to herself. Without looking back, she could picture the scene perfectly—Him sitting there, jaw clenched, trying to pretend he wasn't affected. But she knew better.
This was her house now, too, and if she was going to be stuck here, she might as well enjoy herself. Besides, she wasn't just playing a game for her own amusement. Every shattered glass, every subtle glance he tried to hide, was a little victory. And with each one, she was getting closer to breaking through that carefully crafted mask he always wore.
After all, two could play this game—and Ginny Weasley had every intention of winning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One evening, Blaise decided he'd had enough. For days now, she had been toying with him, pushing him to the edge without ever giving him the satisfaction of knowing whether or not she was serious. He couldn't take it anymore—the teasing, the way she would casually saunter around the house in practically nothing, knowing full well what she was doing to him. It was maddening, and he was done playing her game.
Without thinking twice, he stormed through the manor and barged into her room, the sound of the door slamming against the wall reverberating through the air. The scent of lavender and rose filled the room as he found her in the bath, surrounded by bubbles and steam, her skin glistening in the candlelight.
Her eyes widened in shock as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. "What the hell are you doing, Zabini? Get out!"
But Blaise wasn't backing down. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that left no room for argument. "Get out?" he scoffed, his voice low and dangerous. "Not like you've left much to the imagination, baby girl."
She shot him a defiant glare, her heart racing as she raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She tilted her head back slightly, daring him to make the next move.
He clenched his jaw, his frustration boiling over. "Are you enjoying yourself? Walking around in nothing, making me hard all day, messing with my head?"
His voice was rough, edged with raw tension that he had been holding back for too long. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled desire. "Is this all just a game to you?"
Her pulse quickened at his words, but she wasn't about to let him see how much he was affecting her. She leaned back in the tub, her arms still crossed, her chin tilted up defiantly. "And if it is?" she shot back, her voice steady but laced with challenge. "Maybe I'm just having a bit of fun."
"Fun?" he let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, pacing along the edge of the tub. "Is that what this is? You think it's fun to drive me insane? To parade around this house like you don't know exactly what you're doing to me?"
She smirked, the corners of her mouth curling up in that infuriating way that made his blood boil. "Maybe I do."
He stopped pacing, turning to face her, his expression unreadable. He took a slow breath, his voice calmer now but still thick with frustration. "Do you have any idea what you're playing with? I've been trying to give you space, trying to be patient, but you're making it really difficult."
Her smirk faltered slightly. She hadn't expected him to confront her like this. The truth was, she'd been testing him, pushing him to see how far she could go before he finally snapped. But now, seeing the way his eyes darkened with something more than just frustration, she wasn't sure if she'd gone too far.
He stepped closer, his gaze burning into hers. "I've been trying to respect your boundaries, to let you adjust to this marriage on your terms. But this?"
His eyes flicked down to the bubbles barely covering her body. "This is not the way to make things easier."
Ginny swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. For the first time in days, she felt like she wasn't in control. She had been the one teasing him, playing with his emotions, but now Blaise had turned the tables. His presence was overwhelming, and she could feel the heat radiating from him even from where she sat.
"You want to play games?" his voice dropped, low and husky, as he crouched down beside the tub, his face inches from hers. "Fine. But don't act surprised when I decide to play back."
Her breath hitched as his words sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the tension between them, thick and electric, crackling in the air. She had been poking the bear for days, but now the bear was wide awake—and she wasn't sure if she was ready for what was coming next.
He stood up, towering over her as he stared down, his voice soft but filled with warning. "I'm done playing, baby girl. If you want to keep pushing me, go ahead. But don't think I'm going to keep pretending I don't want you."
She stared up at him, her pulse racing, unsure of what to say. Part of her wanted to push him further, to see how much control he really had left. But another part of her—the part that was now very aware of how close he was, how much he affected her—was starting to feel like maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.
He turned to leave, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder. "I'll be downstairs. If you're done with your game, you know where to find me."
She watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. The room felt colder without him in it, the steam from the bath no longer comforting. She had been in control, or at least she had thought she was, but now she wasn't so sure.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure if she wanted the game to end at all.
She finished washing up and headed downstairs, her steps deliberate but light. Blaise was already waiting in the dimly lit living room, lounging casually with a knowing look on his face. He had been expecting her, as he always did. He could read her like an open book—Ginny Weasley, so fiery, so unpredictable to everyone else, but to him? She was surprisingly easy to decode.
His eyes met hers as soon as she entered. "Ginerva," he said smoothly, his tone almost teasing, "Why is it that you refuse to talk to me, yet insist on taunting me?"
She smirked, folding her arms across her chest. "Because it's fun," she said, her voice laced with mischief.
"Fun?" he raised an eyebrow. "It's not fun for me. In fact, it's getting quite boring." He leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Tell me, are you racist?"
Ginny's jaw dropped, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "WHAT?" she nearly yelled.
Blaise remained calm, his eyes never leaving hers. "Is that why you don't like me?" he asked, his voice cool and controlled, though there was an edge to his words. "Because I'm not exactly the pureblood ideal?"
She blinked, trying to process what he had just said. Then, before she could stop herself, she barked out a laugh. "Merlin, no, you idiot! You think that's it? If anything, I'm quite fond of your chocolateness—if you know what I mean." She flashed him a wicked grin, her words daring and bold, but her eyes softened for a moment.
He gave her a small, satisfied smile, understanding the joke. "Got it."
But Ginny wasn't finished. Her expression shifted, the playful glint in her eyes replaced by something darker. "No, that's not it at all. You're a Death Eater," she spat the words, her voice suddenly hard and cold. "That's why I hate you."
For a moment, there was silence between them, thick and tense. His face didn't betray much, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, guilt, maybe? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that the easy banter had disappeared, and in its place was the cold, hard truth of their pasts.
He leaned back into his chair, exhaling deeply. "That's fair," he said quietly, his voice now stripped of its usual arrogance. "But people change, Ginny. I'm not the same person I was."
She stared at him, her heart torn between the anger she'd been harboring for so long and the confusing feelings that had started to surface in the time they'd been forced to spend together. She didn't know if she could believe him, not yet, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at her now, that made her think… maybe.
She shook her head, trying to push away the vulnerability threatening to creep in. "We'll see," she said simply, before turning away, leaving the tension hanging between them like a storm waiting to break.
Blaise stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he followed her. His voice rose, cutting through the heavy silence that had filled the room.
"Ginerva, stop! We need to have this conversation!" His frustration was palpable, but there was something else in his tone—an edge of desperation. "I need you. I need you to talk to me, to be my partner."
She kept walking, her back rigid, her footsteps echoing through the grand house. She didn't even glance back at him.
His temper flared. "We have a 90% match on our magical core evaluation for fuck's sake!" His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him. "Do you even know what that means? We're supposed to be soulmates!"
She spun around, her eyes ablaze. "And you know who has 99.8%?" she snapped, her voice laced with venom. "Hermione and the Ferret," she spat out Draco's nickname like it was poison. "How do you feel about that?"
The air between them crackled with tension, and for a moment, he was taken aback. But Ginny wasn't finished.
"His auntie tortured her!" her voice broke, the anger in her words barely concealing the pain underneath. "What a lovely story for them to tell their kids one day, huh? About how the woman he loves was crucioed by his own family."
Blaise swallowed hard, the truth of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He hadn't forgotten. How could he? It was the past they all had to live with, the scars they carried whether they wanted to or not. But what could he say? He wasn't Draco, and yet he was tainted by association, by the choices his family had made, by the mark he'd once worn on his arm.
"And you think I don't carry that weight?" he said quietly, his voice strained with emotion. "You think I don't regret every damn thing? I'm not proud of it, Ginny. But I'm trying. I'm trying to make this work."
Her chest heaved as she stared at him, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "But why?" she demanded, her voice cracking with the weight of her own fears. "Why are you even trying? Why do you care?"
Blaise stepped closer, his eyes locked onto hers, filled with a rawness she hadn't seen before. "Because I can't pretend this doesn't matter to me. You matter. I need you to see that."
She shook her head, tears prickling her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't know if I can just forget everything that happened."
"You don't have to forget," he said softly, his hand reaching out, hovering between them as if he was afraid to touch her. "But maybe we can build something better. Something that's ours."
She stared at his outstretched hand, unsure whether to take it, to trust it. The weight of everything—the forced marriage, the expectations, the ghosts of their past—loomed large. But at that moment, he didn't feel like a stranger, or an enemy. He felt like someone else. Someone she might just be able to reach.
Finally, she let out a shaky breath. "I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you."
"I'm not asking you to," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just asking you to try."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, but no longer unbearable. For the first time, Ginny didn't walk away.
Her voice cut through the air, sharp and unexpected. "I want to kiss you."
He froze, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he thought he had misheard her, but the way her lips curved into that wicked, knowing smirk told him he hadn't.
He wasted no time. In one swift motion, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he pulled her in. The kiss was intense, passionate, filled with everything unsaid between them. He poured all of his pent-up frustration, desire, and hope into it, hoping she felt even a fraction of what he was trying to convey.
But just as quickly as it had begun, Ginny broke away. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she ran a finger over her swollen lips, clearly enjoying the stunned look on Blaise's face.
"I've always wondered what it feels like to kiss a Death Eater," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and sass.
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and sauntered away, leaving him standing there, stunned, breathless, and thoroughly confused.
He blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "What the—?"
From behind her, she threw a glance over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. "Thanks for the experiment, Zabini. Don't get any ideas."
He ran a hand through his hair, still tasting her on his lips, still feeling the warmth of her skin against his.
"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, watching her walk away as if she owned the world. "This woman's going to be the death of me."
She smirked as she made her way down the hall, her heart racing. She hadn't planned it, but Merlin, it had been worth it. That kiss had felt more electric than anything she'd ever imagined, but she'd never give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
No, this was a game, and Ginny Weasley never lost.
Let him stew over that kiss, she thought, biting back a grin. It was all part of the fun, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blaise raked a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. Merlin, he was so screwed.
No—fucked, to be exact.
Ginny Weasley had officially taken up residence in his mind, and there was no escaping her. He couldn't even remember the last time his thoughts hadn't circled back to her—her fiery temper, the way her hair shimmered like molten copper under the light, those damn freckles scattered across her nose that drove him mad every time she scrunched her face in defiance. And then that kiss...
Hell, that kiss. He still felt it. It lingered, haunting him like a phantom. The taste of her lips, the fire in her touch. He could close his eyes and still feel the imprint of her body pressed against his, the softness of her skin under his fingertips, the heat that sparked between them.
I'm fucked.
Blaise groaned inwardly, leaning against the nearest wall, running a hand over his face. He hadn't even tried to stop thinking about her. Why would he? She'd wormed her way into every corner of his mind, and it was getting dangerous. Each night, his dreams brought her closer, more vivid, more real. The way her body fit perfectly against his, the way she looked at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, always challenging, always testing his limits. He wanted her in ways that terrified him.
But this wasn't just physical, was it? No. It went beyond that. The way she got under his skin, made him feel things he hadn't let himself feel for years. She was everything—infuriating, stubborn, unpredictable, untouchable—and that's exactly why he couldn't get her out of his head.
And that game she was playing? Merlin, she was driving him mad. Walking around the house like she was testing him, teasing him, leaving him teetering on the edge of insanity. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had to know. And yet... she acted like none of it mattered, like she wasn't unraveling him piece by piece every time she looked at him with that smug little grin.
Focus, Zabini, he told himself, but it was pointless. How could he focus when she haunted his waking hours as much as she did his dreams? Even now, as he stood here, trying to gather his thoughts, he could hear her voice in the back of his mind, feel the ghost of her touch lingering on his skin.
"I'm so fucked."
He wasn't sure when it had gotten this bad. Maybe it was that night at dinner, the way she looked at him like he was the only one in the room. Or maybe it was when she brushed past him in the hallway, her scent lingering in the air long after she was gone. Or maybe it was the way she teased him, never giving too much, but just enough to keep him on the hook.
I've dreamt of you nearly every single night this week, Blaise thought again, clenching his fists. And not just the usual dreams, either. These were vivid, full of soft touches, whispered promises, stolen moments in the dark where the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of them.
But the morning always came, and reality slapped him in the face. Because in real life, she wasn't his—not really. She was still Ginny Weasley, fierce and untouchable, and he was Blaise Zabini, stuck in a marriage neither of them had asked for.
Yet, somehow, he found himself wanting it. Wanting her.
He was so fucked. And he had no idea what to do about it.
Blaise stepped through the door of his grand, silent home, the weight of the evening still clinging to him. His jacket was soaked through, not from rain, but from the blood of another mission gone successful, another life snuffed out under the cover of darkness. His fingers ached from gripping his wand too tightly, the adrenaline from hours before still coursing through him.
He walked quietly through the dark corridors, the opulence of his surroundings lost on him—this house that screamed wealth and old money meant nothing compared to the shadows that clung to his soul. Tonight had been like any other night, another target, another kill. It was routine now. Calculated. Cold. His footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor, but his mind was elsewhere.
Ginerva.
She'd taken over his thoughts. Lately, her image haunted him, creeping in at the most inopportune times—like during his missions. He'd see her hair flash in his mind just as he cast the final spell, hear her laughter when his focus should've been sharp, deadly. He clenched his jaw. This was a problem. A weakness.
Blaise had always been a man of precision, a strategist who relied on control, manipulation, and mastery over every situation. His life as an assassin was one of structure, where emotions were tools, not weaknesses. But when it came to Ginny, everything unraveled. She was chaos, defying every plan, every thought-out move he had, and worst of all, she made him care—something he hadn't allowed himself to do in years. Tonight, though, he knew there was no avoiding it any longer. It was time to be vulnerable, to let her see everything he'd kept hidden.
He paced back and forth in his study, eyes flicking over the magical projection hovering in the center of the room. A presentation, of sorts. It was the only way he knew how to show her what lay beneath his mask—the truth of his past, his allegiance to the Dark Mark, the choices he made, and the deep hatred he harbored for himself because of them. Blaise hated explanations, but for her, he would lay it all out.
His hands were steady, but his heart pounded as he set the stage. A memory projection. Text. Even visuals. He was sparing no detail.
The door creaked open behind him, and Blaise glanced over his shoulder. Ginny stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised in suspicion.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice carrying that familiar mix of defiance and curiosity.
"An explanation," Blaise said, turning fully to face her. "How I became a Death Eater."
Ginny straightened up, her expression guarded as she stepped further into the room. "I didn't think you'd actually tell me," she replied, sarcasm lacing her words, though beneath it was genuine interest, maybe even hope.
Blaise took a breath, steadying himself. "I'm not doing this for you to pity me. I want you to understand why I am the way I am. Why I've done what I've done. You've made it clear you hate me for it. And I don't blame you."
Her eyes softened slightly at his admission, but she said nothing.
He waved his wand, and the projection shifted, showing a younger version of himself. The image of Blaise, no older than seventeen, stood in front of a group of masked figures in a dark room. A tall, imposing figure loomed in the center, his face a twisted mix of serpentine features—Voldy.
"This is the night I received the Dark Mark," Blaise said, his voice cold as if he were narrating someone else's life. "I was raised with certain expectations, Mia cara. My mother, as you know, married rich and powerful men, one after another, accumulating wealth. She didn't care about who I became as long as I brought prestige to the family name. Voldemort was rising in power, and my family pushed me to join him, to solidify our place in his new world order."
Ginny's gaze flickered to the younger Blaise in the projection. His face was stone, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.
"I didn't want it," Blaise continued. "But refusal wasn't an option. You either joined, or you died. I thought... maybe if I joined, I could find a way out later. That was my first mistake—thinking there was an exit once you were in."
The projection shifted, showing Blaise sitting alone in a dimly lit room, his left forearm exposed as he stared at the fresh Dark Mark seared into his skin. His expression was hollow, his eyes void of the arrogance and confidence he usually exuded.
"I hated it from the start," he said, his voice now softer, tinged with bitterness. "But once you're marked, you belong to them. Every mission, every order, you follow without question. And so, I did..."
The scene changed again, showing flashes of his memories—missions he had been sent on, lives he had taken. Faces flashed by, some familiar, others not, each one a weight on his soul. The memories were relentless, each darker than the last, until finally, it showed him standing over a man, his wand raised. The man's face was etched with fear, his hands trembling as he begged for his life.
Ginny flinched at the sight, but she didn't look away.
"This was the turning point," Blaise said quietly, watching the memory of himself hesitate before casting the curse. "I realized I had become exactly what they wanted me to be. A killer. A weapon. I'd convinced myself it was just survival, but it was more than that. I had become everything I despised."
Liar.
The projection faded, and the room fell into a heavy silence. Blaise turned to look at Ginny, his dark eyes searching hers. "I've done things that can't be undone. Things I'll never be able to make up for. I don't expect forgiveness. I don't even expect you to understand. But I need you to know—" His voice wavered slightly, something uncharacteristic for him. "—I'm not that man anymore. I'm not just a Death Eater, not just a killer."
Liar.
Ginny stared at him, her arms uncrossing as she stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Why now?" she asked quietly. "Why show me all of this now?"
"Because I need you to see me," Blaise said, his voice rougher now, raw. "I need you to know that I'm not hiding anymore. If we're going to be stuck in this together, you deserve to know who I am. All of me. The good and the very, very ugly."
Liar.
She glanced at the now-empty projection, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't think you were capable of feeling remorse," she admitted.
"You're not wrong," Blaise said with a hollow laugh. "I've buried it for years. But you... you bring it to the surface, and I hate it. But I need it. I can't keep living like this. Not with you in my life."
Ginny swallowed, her throat tightening as she tried to process everything he had shown her. The weight of his words and his past hung in the air, suffocating, yet something about his vulnerability, his willingness to expose the darkest parts of himself, tugged at her.
"You've done horrible things, Blaise," she finally said, her voice shaking slightly. "But... I see you. I see who you are now, and maybe that's what scares me the most."
Blaise took a step closer, his gaze locked on hers, his heart pounding in his chest. "Then be scared," he whispered. "But don't walk away."
Ginny looked at him for a long moment, the weight of his past and the complexity of their present crashing together in her mind. She knew this wasn't something that could be forgiven overnight. Maybe it could never be forgiven. But she saw him now, truly saw him—and that was a start.
Without a word, she nodded, her eyes still holding his. And in that silence, something shifted between them, a fragile understanding, an unspoken truth. Blaise had bared his soul, and now, it was up to her whether she would destroy it or protect it.