We're friends, Blaise.
She stands in front of him, trying to hide the shake of her hands. She looks up- when did he get so tall - glaring at his face. She studies every inch of his face, trying to find how he really felt behind that apathetic mask. That look of contempt. She can't believe it. She won't believe it. This couldn't be the same boy she had sat beside on the train, the same boy she had studied Arithmancy with, traded jokes with, trained on the Quidditch Pitch with. He would never betray her like this.
He stares down at her, teeth digging firmly into the inside of his cheek. His eyes flicker up to the boy she had chosen over everything. Then they go back to her, hover over her lips, follow her cheekbones before going to her eyes. This had to be the hardest thing he'd ever done- she was never just a friend to him. But a war was coming and she had chosen a side- the light's side. His best interests lay in pushing her away.
Oh, Marceline. That was before you became a filthy blood traitor.