We Are Hogwarts...
The twelve school directors murmured to themselves—a school song and four confessions had taken them back to their student days, now long behind them.
Mrs. Malfoy tilted her head toward the starry sky, her eyes glistening but unwilling to let the tears fall.
The students in this castle had gained so much beauty over their seven years of study and life.
And because of them, Hogwarts was no longer just a school—it was built by magic, elevated by dreams, and eternalized by love.
Dumbledore raised his goblet. "To Hogwarts!"
Professor Snape was the first to stand. "Headmaster, I must second your toast."
He picked up the goblet from the table and gently clinked it against Dumbledore's.
Many laughed, knowing Snape's awkwardness. His gesture was his way of accepting the students' tributes and offering a response.
"Professor Snape is even more reserved than the girls," Tonks whispered in Moriarty's ear with a chuckle.
"It's our turn to dance, Nymphadora," Moriarty said, gently squeezing her hand.
Tonks stuck out her tongue. "Oh, I almost forgot."
Taking her left hand, Moriarty stepped onto the dance floor on the right side of the hall, all eyes following them.
The stage was brightly lit. Moriarty wore a silver robe, while Tonks dazzled in a bright red dress—her hair now a rich burgundy to match.
They were a perfect blend of ice and fire, logic and chaos.
Moriarty's hand slid around Tonks' slender waist, momentarily stunning him.
He faintly recalled his first dance at a noble manor in Wimbledon, England—then, he had infiltrated a dance to perform an assassination, learning to dance as part of the mission.
Time flowed like water, years sang like melodies. Life had changed. The girls he held through the years came and went, but Tonks had become the most special of them all.
Moriarty's handsome face reflected in her brilliant eyes. She placed her left hand on his arm, her right hand met his, and their fingers interlaced.
Light, cheerful music floated through the air. Moriarty circled slowly at first to help Tonks ease into the rhythm—she hadn't danced in a while.
Gradually, Tonks recovered her footing. Her lips curved into a lovely smile as she swirled, her fiery dress blooming like a manzhushahua—death's red flower.
With a spin, Tonks threw herself into Moriarty's arms, resting her face on his chest. "Moriarty, am I good at dancing?"
"As beautiful as a fairy," Moriarty replied, lifting her high into the air.
"It's rare to hear you compliment a girl." Tonks giggled, leaping down from his shoulders and following his rhythm with grace.
Moriarty laughed silently and led her across the stage. Social dancing was a pureblood essential.
Slytherin was the purest of pure-blood families, and Black the oldest. Moriarty and Tonks danced like a breeze, white and red waves sweeping elegantly across the wide hall.
As the music ended, the two descended from the stage amid applause and admiration.
Looking around, they found that only Professor Snape remained seated.
Dumbledore danced with Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout with Professor Flitwick, Professor Sinistra with Professor Randy the vampire, and Ludo Bagman with Professor Bathsheda Babbling of Ancient Runes.
Professor Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, moved softly across the floor, the crowd giving them wide berth out of reverence.
As more professors and students joined the dance floor, Moriarty spotted a tall figure—Marcus.
He danced with someone even taller—Hagrid. The two lumbered in wide arcs, limbs flailing, creating a path of panic as students dodged their cheerful but clumsy dance.
Tonks covered her mouth. "Merlin's Waltz! His dance partner is Hagrid! Marcus and Hagrid?! Am I blind, Moriarty?"
Moriarty smiled. It wasn't uncommon—boys paired with boys, girls with girls.
Besides Marcus and Hagrid, Roman and the wild-haired boy danced together. Their tacit understanding showed—even the way they stepped on each other's feet was in perfect sync.
"Captain, would you kindly remove your left foot?"
"My dear teammate, only if you first move your left foot from my right!"
"What? My left foot is stepping on your right? Then what about my right foot? Why can't I lift it? Merlin! Your left foot's crushing me!"
Their lively banter drew laughter, a crowd gathering to witness the comedic "left-foot-right-foot" chaos.
Across the floor danced Lilith and Gemma Farley.
Lilith in a black robe, Gemma in white. Every step matched the beat perfectly—heartbeats and breaths became a rhythm of life.
Boys watched Slytherin's two roses with admiration. But no one dared approach—they all knew the pair had co-founded the "Forever Shine" fan club.
Even if Moriarty hadn't had a partner, who would dare cross that line?
Not to mention Lilith and Gemma's presence alone kept most boys at bay.
Except for Jericho, of course.
With boldness rivaling Godric Gryffindor, he didn't invite either of the two. He already had a girlfriend.
He and Helena danced joyfully.
Only when Jericho returned to his seat for a drink did he notice Snape still sitting alone.
Recalling later, Jericho swore Snape was unmoving, eyes distant, lost in memory.
Jericho guessed he was thinking about Lily Potter.
His long-lost love. Harry's mother. The girl who never left his heart.
"You can't sit out just because your rival got the girl," Jericho thought. Typical American attitude—show your strength in front of both sweetheart and rival.
So, he approached Snape boldly.
With a dramatic flick, Jericho extended his right hand. "Professor? Head of my House? May I have this dance?"
Snape slowly turned, his face green with irritation, cold with fury, his eyes sharp enough to kill.
Jericho, no stranger to that look—mistaken for James Potter often enough—stood unfazed.
"My father said the best way to show goodwill is to take initiative. Come on, Master Dean. Consider it a reward for me winning the match."
His hand remained outstretched, smile sincere.
Snape stared for five full minutes. Jericho's grin faltered.
Then Snape's face relaxed, dull again.
He abruptly patted Jericho's shoulder with a "snap," pushing him off the guest seat and toward Helena.
"Take care of your little boyfriend," he muttered, sweeping away in a flourish of robes.
Helena watched him go. "His back doesn't look like an old bat anymore."
Jericho stroked his chin, smiling with intent. "Failing's fine. Sooner or later, I'll teach him to dance. Maybe even play Quidditch. Just wait."
Helena beamed with pride.
Moriarty observed quietly. Just as he considered following Snape, Tonks leaned in.
"Little brother, one more dance."
Moriarty met the warmth in her eyes and couldn't refuse.
He took her hand and returned to the floor.
They danced a tango, then the final waltz of the evening.
In this November nearing winter, Tonks' smile was like a small sun, warming the entire castle.
And her love, like a fierce flame, left its mark on Moriarty's heart—deep in the sea of his cold soul. It belonged to him alone.
The last days of November passed in the afterglow of the ball.
In the blink of an eye, it was December—the last moon in the magical calendar.
Professor Nicolas Flamel assigned piles of alchemy homework to every student, and now, all anyone looked forward to was the coming Christmas break.