The dungeons were half-asleep at that hour, breathing cold and damp through the stones. Torches guttered low in their sconces, their flames thin and pale against the weight of dark. Most students avoided the lower corridors entirely—too many drafts, too many whispers. But Theo Nott had learned to follow traces: a faint shimmer of frost threading along the flagstones, the soft pulse of contained magic bleeding through the air.
He found the door half-ajar—the old unused classroom no one entered since that night two years ago, when a prefect claimed to have seen a ghost walk out wrapped in ice. Theo pushed it open.
The air inside bit at his skin immediately. The walls were veined with frozen tendrils, the desks rimmed with hoarfrost, candles suspended mid-drip with icicles forming from their wax. At the center of it all stood Alden.
His wand cut slow circles through the air, each motion deliberate, almost surgical. A current of silver-blue light spiraled from the tip, condensing into a sphere that hovered above his palm. Within it—frost twisting, shattering, reforming, trying to stabilize. It pulsed once, then cracked apart, shards of frozen air scattering like glass.
Alden didn't flinch. He just lowered his hand and exhaled. The vapor left his mouth in a plume, crystalline in the torchlight.
Theo closed the door behind him. "You're going to end up freezing your own blood one of these days."
Alden didn't turn. "I've had worse side effects."
Theo stepped closer, hands in pockets, boots crunching lightly on the frost-slick floor. "You know, most people prepare for the Yule Ball by picking a tie, not by attempting to summon permafrost."
The corner of Alden's mouth twitched. "Most people aren't me."
"That's the understatement of the century." Theo tilted his head, watching another thin strand of magic curl from Alden's wand and vanish like breath. "You're avoiding her."
Alden's posture stiffened for a heartbeat. "I'm practicing."
"You're avoiding her while practicing," Theo corrected. "Multitasking."
A pause, long and quiet. Alden finally looked over his shoulder. The light caught his eyes—storm-grey with that faint metallic glint that made people forget how young he actually was.
"I'm not good with people, Theo," he said simply. "You know that."
"You're not good at letting people be people," Theo replied. "There's a difference."
Alden turned fully then, wand still loose in his fingers. "She deserves someone simple. Someone who isn't followed by whispers or frost."
Theo shrugged. "She didn't follow the frost. She followed you. Big difference."
Something flickered across Alden's face—something unguarded, quickly buried. He lifted his wand again, tracing a slow figure through the air. "Frigus Motus."
A halo of icy wind spun outward, dancing like mist before coalescing into a human silhouette. It wasn't detailed—just shape and shadow—but it stood between them, shimmering faintly, a mirror made of fog and cold. Then it fractured, scattering in a hiss of vapor.
"That's what happens when I try to shape something too precisely," Alden said. His voice was low, even. "Control falters."
"You're not talking about magic anymore," Theo said.
Alden didn't deny it. He looked at his gloved hand, at the faint frost creeping up his wrist from the wand. "Every time I think I've found balance, I tip too far into what they already believe I am. Distant. Arrogant. Dangerous."
Theo leaned against a frozen desk. "You are distant. And arrogant. The dangerous part's debatable."
"Helpful."
"Always."
Alden almost smiled—almost. The silence hung heavy between them, the kind that felt like it might break if either of them breathed too loudly. Finally, he spoke again, quieter.
"I don't know what to do, Theo."
Theo studied him, then said, "You don't have to do anything. Just stop trying to solve yourself like one of your spells. She doesn't need perfection; she just needs proof you bleed the same color as everyone else."
Alden's gaze dropped to the floor, where frost had crept outward in a faint ring around his boots. The quiet hum of residual magic filled the air, low and almost melodic.
"And if I can't give her that?"
Theo smirked faintly. "Then at least give her the chance to decide for herself. You owe her that much."
For a moment, Alden stood motionless, then flicked his wand. The frost retreated, the room exhaled, and the cold eased enough to feel like air again instead of stone. He finally met Theo's eyes.
"You're insufferably rational."
"Someone has to be," Theo said, pushing off the desk. "Besides, I've got to make sure you don't turn into one of your own ice sculptures before the ball."
"No promises."
"Didn't expect any."
Theo turned toward the door, pausing when his hand found the handle. "For what it's worth," he said over his shoulder, "Daphne's not afraid of frost. She's afraid of never getting close enough to see what's underneath."
The door shut softly behind him, leaving Alden alone in the dim, thawing quiet. The last traces of his magic hung in the air—fragile filaments of light fading into nothing.
He stood there for a long while, staring at the space where the ice-formed figure had been. Then, finally, he whispered to the empty room:
"Underneath isn't what people want to see."
And the cold answered back in silence.
The torches in the lower hallways burned with a tired, orange light, their flames hissing softly against the damp stone. Alden walked in silence, boots echoing faintly off the floor, the air still touched with the faint chill that clung to him from his practice. His thoughts were quieter now—measured, organized, but not settled.
He rounded the last corner before the Slytherin common room and saw Theo waiting near the archway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Draco stood beside him, looking impatient, pale hair perfectly arranged, even though it was nearly curfew.
Draco turned as Alden approached, lowering his voice.
"Finally. Nott's been standing here like a gargoyle for ten minutes."
Theo didn't even look at him. "He needed to think."
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. "Right. Of course. Because thinking's what we do best down here—plotting, brooding, and generally terrifying everyone else."
"You should try it sometime," Theo said dryly.
Alden stopped in front of them, gloved hands folded behind his back. "If you're both finished."
Theo tilted his head, eyes flicking over Alden's composed but faintly distant expression. "You've made up your mind, then?"
Alden nodded once. "I'm going to ask Daphne."
For a heartbeat, the corridor was silent. Then Draco blinked, straightened, and actually laughed—sharp and incredulous.
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Alden asked, tone even.
"No," Draco admitted. "You look like you're about to duel a dementor, which honestly feels about the same thing."
Theo smirked, crossing his arms. "Go on, Draco. Tell him."
Draco ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to decide whether to admire or warn. "All right, listen. Daphne Greengrass isn't… approachable, per se. She's—how do I put this politely—frostbite in human form. They call her the Ice Princess for a reason."
Alden raised an eyebrow. "A nickname, or a prophecy?"
"Both, depending on who you ask," Draco said. "At least seven blokes have tried their luck this week alone—one from Ravenclaw nearly tripped over his own apology on the way out. She didn't hex them, which is merciful, but she might as well have. That glare of hers could crack stone."
Theo's grin widened slightly. "He's not exaggerating."
"So I've heard," Alden murmured. His tone didn't shift, but something faintly amused flickered behind his eyes. "You're saying I should be afraid."
"I'm saying she could freeze the Black Lake solid if she wanted to," Draco said. "And if she turns you down, even you won't melt that kind of ice."
Theo interjected, voice calm. "Or she won't turn him down at all."
Draco gave him a skeptical look. "You've seen her turn down prefects, sixth-years, Quidditch captains—and you think she'll say yes to him?"
Theo just smiled faintly. "I think she already has."
Alden's gaze slid toward him, sharp but not irritated. "You talk too much, Theo."
"I'm aware," Theo said. "But it gets results."
Draco looked between the two of them, frowning slightly. "Wait—hold on. You're serious, aren't you? You actually like her."
Alden adjusted the collar of his cloak. "What I like is irrelevant."
"Not if you're going to the Yule Ball, it's not," Draco said. "Merlin, you really don't do anything halfway, do you? You could've picked anyone—half the castle's been swooning over you since the first task—and instead you pick her."
Alden regarded him calmly. "Would you rather I choose someone easy?"
Draco hesitated. "Well, when you say it like that—"
Theo cut in, smirking. "He's not after easy, Draco. He's after real."
Draco threw his hands up. "Right, fine, be noble about it. Just don't come crying to me when she turns you into a snow sculpture."
"I'll keep that in mind," Alden said dryly, brushing past them toward the common room.
Theo fell into step beside him, whispering just loud enough for Draco to hear. "At least she'll make a beautiful sculpture."
Draco groaned. "Unbelievable. You're all insane. I'm surrounded by lunatics with wands."
Alden paused at the entrance as the stone wall slid open to reveal the emerald glow of the Slytherin common room beyond. He turned slightly, just enough for the torchlight to catch in his pale hair.
"I've faced dragons, Draco," he said quietly. "I think I can manage one girl."
Theo bit back a laugh. Draco, for once, was speechless.
Alden stepped through the entrance, the door sealing behind him with a whisper of stone and frost.
Theo and Draco stood in the echoing hallway for a moment longer, the latter still staring at the spot where Alden had vanished.
"You know what?" Draco finally. "If he actually pulls this off, I'm buying him a bloody crown."
Theo chuckled under his breath, following after. "Make it silver," he said. "It'll match the frost."
green glass lanterns, laughter curling like smoke between clusters of students lounging in their dark leather chairs. Beneath the surface, though, there was tension—small, sharp, like the air before a thunderclap.
Near the hearth, Daphne Greengrass stood with arms folded, expression smooth as marble. The boy in front of her—fifth-year, broad-shouldered, the kind who mistook confidence for charm—was trying very hard to salvage his pride.
"You could at least consider it," he said tightly, voice a little too loud.
"I did," Daphne replied, tone polite, crisp as winter air. "I decided against it."
The boy's jaw tightened. "You didn't even—"
"Goodnight," she interrupted, not unkindly, but with finality that brooked no argument.
Her eyes lifted just enough to meet his. Whatever he saw there—cold grace, or perhaps that quiet, unspoken power of no—froze the next words in his throat. He turned on his heel and left, cloak snapping behind him.
The surrounding group pretended not to stare, though whispers chased his retreat like shadows.
Theo, sitting at one of the lower tables, snorted softly. "Another brave soul joins the list of casualties."
Alden, standing just beside him, arched an eyebrow. "Is she always like this?"
Theo leaned back, smirking. "You mean terrifying? Only when provoked."
"No," Alden said, voice quieter, thoughtful. "I mean… indifferent. Every time we talk, she's kind. Measured. Engaged. Nothing like this."
Theo turned his head slowly toward him, a grin tugging at his mouth. "For someone who notices everything, you really are hopeless."
Alden frowned faintly. "Explain."
"She's not indifferent, Alden," Theo said. "She's selective. There's a difference. She's polite to most, friendly to a handful, and you—" He gestured with his quill. "You're at the top of that list. Probably because you're the only person who listens to her without trying to impress her or run from her."
Alden considered that, expression unreadable. "I doubt it's that simple."
"It never is," Theo said, shrugging. "But for what it's worth, why do you think she went out to the lake last night?"
Alden's gaze drifted toward the firelight. "A lecture, perhaps. Some solitude."
Theo groaned under his breath. "Merlin's sake. It's tragic how brilliant you are."
Before Alden could answer, the room shifted—hushed, a slow ripple of attention turning toward the staircase. Conversation stilled; even the fire seemed to draw in its breath. Alden glanced up, realizing belatedly that the sudden silence followed him.
He sighed inwardly.
Whispers flickered like embers. Dreyse.Our champion.He's back. He could feel the eyes—half admiration, half unease—and ignored them all, walking forward with the same even pace he used in duels and lectures alike. The Slytherins parted without needing to be asked, the way water bends around a stone.
By the time he reached the center of the room, Daphne had turned. Her expression shifted—not surprise, not the polite interest she gave others—but something subtler, softer. The faintest easing of her posture, as though she'd been holding tension without realizing it.
Alden noticed. And for the first time that evening, he paused.
He thought briefly of the potion brewing in the hidden alcove of the old dungeon classroom—a concoction precise enough to mimic coma for five days. It would have been easy. One swallow, and he'd sleep through the Yule Ball and the tiresome pageantry that came with it.
Isolation as comfort, he mused. A coward's luxury.
But then his gaze lifted—met hers. And he saw it: no awe, no rumor reflected back at him. No whisper of "Dark Lord" or "prodigy." Just recognition.
The same quiet regard she'd always had. The same as before the Goblet, before dragons, before whispers filled the halls.
Something in him shifted—barely, but enough. The tension that had gathered at the edges of his composure eased.
He crossed the final few steps until he stood before her. The room was still watching, of course, but he ignored it. His voice was calm, level, and so quiet the fire cracked louder than he spoke.
"Daphne," he said, the name steady in the air. "Would you like to be my date to the Yule Ball?"
For a moment, even the lake outside seemed to hold its breath.
Theo, from across the room, hid a grin behind his hand. Draco's mouth actually fell open.
And Daphne—whose eyes had softened just a fraction when he entered—blinked once, her mask breaking for the first time that anyone in Slytherin could remember. The faintest smile touched her lips, quiet and real.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said.
The common room exhaled all at once—half in disbelief, half in awe. Alden inclined his head slightly, almost formal, though his eyes warmed by a degree that only Theo caught.
As murmurs rose around them, Theo leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath with a satisfied grin:
"Told you she wasn't afraid of frost."