"Good way to get them to stop staring." Hermione replies, and Blaise shuffles in his chair, knees spread. He’d looked gorgeous all evening, but he looks even better a little rumpled, button undone, slouched in a chair. He makes it look small—the sheer size and bulk of him spilling out of it. Even his seams of his trousers pull a little as he shifts, and Hermione’s eyes linger.