Morning broke over Hogwarts with a soft, pale light. Snow fell thickly beyond the lake, blanketing the grounds in an unbroken sheet of silver-white. The dungeons, however, were alive — not cold, not quiet, but thrumming with the low hum of voices and laughter that seemed to vibrate off the stone walls.
The Slytherin common room glowed green and gold from the flickering hearth. Evergreen garlands laced the serpentine pillars, and the faint shimmer of enchanted frost clung to the windows that peered into the depths of the lake. Above it all hung a single charm — a slow swirl of silver motes that resembled falling snow, never melting, just turning endlessly in the air.
Theo was already sprawled on one of the couches, unwrapping a small parcel from his family. "Another book," he muttered, holding up a dark-bound tome embossed with gold runes. "It's like they know exactly how to remind me I'm their least interesting child."
Across from him, Draco scoffed, adjusting the cuffs of his emerald dressing robe. "At least your family sends you books. Mine sends instructions. 'Stand straight. Speak precisely. Don't humiliate us at the Ball.'"
Theo raised a brow. "So they're just continuing tradition, then."
Draco ignored him and turned toward Alden, who was leaning against one of the tall windows, arms crossed loosely. The morning light cut through the glass and made his silver hair catch faintly in the green glow of the lake outside. "Merry Christmas, Dreyse," Draco said, more out of routine than warmth.
Alden inclined his head slightly. "And to you, Draco."
Theo smirked. "You could at least sound like you mean it."
"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep," Alden said, deadpan, earning a snort from Blaise across the room.
They were soon joined by Crabbe and Goyle, already balancing small plates of breakfast pastries and mugs of spiced tea. "Happy Christmas!" Crabbe boomed, too loudly for the confined space. "Professor Snape said there's no class all day!"
Theo groaned. "It's Christmas, Crabbe. I'd be worried if there was."
But the laughter that followed was warm — almost domestic, if one could ever call Slytherin warmth that. Beneath the stone and ambition, there was something familial in this small circle — a quiet camaraderie born not of trust, but of shared ambition and survival.
Draco clapped his hands suddenly, eyes lighting up with mischief. "Right. Enough holiday sentimentality. Who's up for something productive?"
Theo eyed him. "Every time you use that word, I know I'm about to regret it."
Draco's grin sharpened. "Snow. Fresh, untouched, and currently being wasted on Hufflepuffs building whatever ridiculous thing that is outside. I propose we go… remind the other houses why they're beneath us."
Theo leaned back, unimpressed. "You mean throw snowballs at Gryffindors."
"Exactly."
Blaise sighed. "You realize we're fourteen, not four."
"Four-year-olds don't have aim this good," Draco said, already pulling on his gloves. "Come on, Dreyse. You could use some air — unless you're planning to spend Christmas writing essays on wand theory again."
Alden finally looked up. "Essays don't throw themselves at me in corridors."
"That's not a no," Draco said, grinning. "Take that as progress."
Theo groaned, but the group eventually followed Draco through the winding corridors, out past the Slytherin entrance, and up toward the courtyard. The snow was knee-deep now, soft and untouched, and the morning light had turned it to glass where it met shadow.
Outside, the laughter of Gryffindors echoed faintly from the far side — a small cluster of them near the courtyard arch, rolling snowballs and shouting over one another.
"Perfect," Draco murmured, crouching behind a low wall. "We'll flank them from here. Crabbe, Goyle, ready yourselves. Aim for the tall one — that's Weasley."
Theo gave Alden a sidelong glance. "I can't believe this is how we're spending Christmas morning."
"Call it field research," Alden said dryly.
"On what?"
"Human idiocy."
Draco let out a triumphant laugh as the first snowball flew — a perfect arc that exploded against Ron's shoulder. "Direct hit!"
Within seconds, chaos erupted. Gryffindors shouted in outrage, ducking for cover behind benches and statues. Snowballs flew like hexes, hissing through the air.
Crabbe and Goyle bellowed with laughter, lobbing handfuls of snow at random targets. Draco, caught between laughter and gloating, yelled, "That's for calling my father a ferret!" before another snowball smacked into his chest.
Alden stood apart — a few paces behind, expression unreadable as a snowball whizzed past him and struck the wall. He sighed. "Pointless."
Theo ducked another flying clump. "You think everything's pointless until you make it terrifying."
Alden's wand slid into his hand almost lazily. He murmured, "Motus Glacies."
The air shimmered faintly around him — a pulse, a soft distortion.
Then, without movement from his hand, the snow lifted from the ground in a dozen spirals. Tiny flakes condensed midair, coalescing into perfect spheres.
The courtyard stilled. For a moment, even Draco froze, staring.
The spheres hovered — silent, glinting in the light — before launching outward in a sudden flurry. They struck the stone walls, the statues, the air around the Gryffindors in a perfectly controlled storm that left no one hurt, just stunned. The snowballs curved around Alden like planets around a star, none daring to hit him.
When the spell faded, he stood untouched, frost glinting faintly at the edge of his boots.
Theo blinked. "Show-off."
Alden turned slightly, brushing snow from his glove. "I'm efficient."
Draco, half-covered in snow and grinning wildly, said, "You're also terrifying. Never do that in front of first-years. Half of them already think you control the weather."
"Let them," Alden said simply.
From across the courtyard, one of the Gryffindors — Seamus, maybe — yelled, "Oi, that's cheating!"
Theo cupped his hands to his mouth. "So is existing near him!"
Even Alden almost smiled at that.
Snowflakes drifted lazily between them, catching in Draco's blond hair and the black fur trim of Alden's cloak. For a brief moment, the rivalry, the rumors, the undercurrent of darkness — all of it was forgotten. They were just students in the snow, pretending they were ordinary.
And though Alden would never admit it, there was something strangely peaceful about it — the laughter, the wind, the sound of life echoing through the cold.
For one morning, the world wasn't whispering about him. It was just breathing.
The snow had thickened into a steady curtain, muffling the world in white. The courtyard that only hours ago had been quiet and pristine was now a battleground. Shrill laughter echoed between towers, mingling with shouted hexes and good-natured insults hurled through the drifting haze.
It had begun, as most chaos did, with a single snowball. Now, nearly the entire school was involved.
Slytherin had claimed the northern courtyard—slick marble steps and high vantage points—while Gryffindor held the southern archway, a fortress of hastily packed snow walls. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, in a rare show of alliance, had fortified the fountain plaza in the center, turning benches into barricades.
And now, the newest arrivals—the Durmstrang boys, bellowing in thick accents and pelting snow with frightening precision—had marched to Slytherin's side without hesitation.
"Ha! The northerners know their loyalties!" Draco crowed, ducking a snowball that exploded into a puff of frost against a pillar. "Forward, my comrades! Show them the meaning of discipline!"
Theo groaned beside him. "You sound like your father."
"I'll take that as a compliment!" Draco shouted, already forming another handful of snow.
The air was thick with flying white projectiles, glowing faintly from the spells some had enchanted them with—harmless color bursts of red, blue, and green lighting up the snow as they hit. Someone—probably Fred or George—had enchanted theirs to scream upon impact.
Alden stood at the edge of the chaos, frost dusting the shoulders of his dark cloak. He wasn't laughing or yelling. He was… thinking. Watching the patterns of flight and sound, the way the snow fell between throws. The way people moved in rhythm without realizing it.
Then, almost idly, he raised his wand.
"Motus Glacies."
The ground around him rippled. Snow rose in slow spirals, twisting together until it took on shape—compact, solid, moving. Within moments, a small snow golem stood beside him: crude but functional, arms round and stubby, eyes glowing faintly blue.
It turned toward the battlefield, scooped up a snowball the size of a pumpkin, and hurled it.
The impact sent a shockwave of snow bursting over three Gryffindors and a bewildered Hufflepuff.
"Hey! That's cheating!" Seamus Finnigan's voice rang out, half outrage, half awe.
Theo was laughing too hard to reply. "Oh Merlin, he actually did it—he's making minions!"
Alden stayed motionless, watching as the golem began assembling smaller ones—tiny, efficient, mechanical precision wrapped in snow. Within minutes, a small regiment stood behind him, each one armed with an endless supply of snowballs conjured from thin air.
Draco turned, jaw dropping. "Dreyse, what are those?!"
"Delegation," Alden said simply.
The next wave of fire was merciless. Gryffindor's snow fort crumbled in a glittering explosion of frost. Hufflepuffs screamed and laughed as snowballs soared over their walls like mortars. Even the Ravenclaws tried to retaliate—Leviosa-ing snow mounds and flinging them with impeccable aim—but Alden's conjured army didn't falter.
Soon, the field was white chaos, laughter and shouts echoing through the cold.
"Bloody unfair!" Fred Weasley yelled as another golem lobbed a snowball at him.
George, dodging one of his own making, shouted back, "You say that like he cares!"
Through the storm of laughter, even the Durmstrang students had stopped throwing for a moment to stare. "He controls it like a machine," one muttered, half impressed, half uneasy.
Alden, for his part, didn't seem to notice. He moved through the courtyard untouched, the snowballs curving around him as if unwilling to strike. Each time one veered too close, it slowed midair, dissolving into flakes before touching him.
The snowball war had evolved beyond chaos — it had become a full-blown siege.
From one of the upper windows of the Astronomy Tower, faint faces watched — silhouettes against the frost.
Inside, the castle was warmer but no less alive. Professors gathered in the staff chamber adjoining the Great Hall, its long oak table buried beneath scrolls, charms, and the faint scent of polish and pine. The walls shimmered faintly, lit by hovering orbs enchanted to reflect the snow outside.
McGonagall stood at the head of the table, immaculate in emerald robes, parchment in hand. "Now," she began crisply, "the plan for tonight is simple — structured," she emphasized, "and, ideally, civilized."
Her gaze flicked toward the door, where distant laughter and a muffled thwack could be heard from outside. "One can hope."
Flitwick stood atop a stack of books, his pointed hat bobbing as he checked a series of floating quills. "The orchestra is tuned, and I've tested the waltz spell twice. No more spontaneous tempo shifts this year."
"Pity," murmured Dumbledore from his seat at the end of the table, a faint smile beneath his beard. "The students seemed to enjoy the unpredictable rhythm."
"Until it caused Mr. Longbottom to collide with a pillar," McGonagall countered.
Hagrid chuckled from his chair, nearly the size of a wardrobe. "Aye, but it were festive!"
Snape, arms folded in his usual shadowed corner, exhaled through his nose. "If by 'festive' you mean chaos accompanied by shrieking, then yes. Quite festive."
"Speaking of which," McGonagall continued, ignoring him, "all staff will be present for the opening ceremony. Champions and their partners will dance first — Potter, Delacour, Krum, and Dreyse — followed by dinner, and then general dancing. Headmasters and representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will, of course, join us at the High Table."
Madame Maxime nodded regally. "I 'ave ensured my girls will behave with decorum."
Karkaroff, lounging in his chair, smirked. "And I will ensure my boys behave with superiority."
Snape's mouth twitched faintly. "That will be a first."
Karkaroff's smile faltered.
McGonagall continued before the tension could crystallize. "Professor Snape will supervise corridors after dinner to ensure—"
Snape cut her off smoothly. "—that students remember this is a school function, not a matchmaking festival."
"Exactly," she said primly.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Though, Severus, let's not discourage the spirit of celebration."
Snape's reply was glacial. "If 'spirit' involves broom closets and perfume, I'll pass."
Hagrid burst out laughing, his booming voice echoing. "Yeh might scare half o' them straight just by starin' at 'em, Professor."
"Precisely my intent," Snape said flatly.
Outside, the laughter had grown louder. The snowball war had consumed the entire courtyard and spilled into the sloping fields near the Black Lake.
Durmstrang boys, fur-collared and shouting in thick accents, had constructed a literal siege wall of ice; Gryffindor responded by enchanting snowballs to glow red and explode in harmless bursts of sparks. The Beauxbatons girls retaliated with delicate precision, flicking their wands to send flurries of heart-shaped snow against the Slytherins.
Through it all, Alden moved like clockwork — efficient, expressionless, utterly composed. Every charm he cast, every flick of his wrist, every shimmer of frost seemed deliberate. He stood at the center of it, a white halo of snow swirling around him like a constellation.
To the others, it looked like mastery. To him, it was just noise — an echo of control in a world that rarely gave him any.
Theo appeared beside him, breathless from laughter. "You realize you're ruining this for everyone, right?"
Alden didn't look away from the snow golem lobbing perfect strikes across the courtyard. "How so?"
"No one's enjoying it anymore," Theo said, smirking. "They're awed."
Alden tilted his head slightly, frost gathering at the corner of his sleeve. "Let them be."
Theo shook his head, grinning despite himself. "You're hopeless."
Alden glanced sideways at him. "Efficient."
"Hopelessly efficient," Theo corrected.
The golem sneezed — a puff of snow — and Theo nearly doubled over laughing.
From one of the upper towers, Dumbledore watched the scene unfold beside McGonagall.
"They're happy," he said softly, eyes reflecting the snow.
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Happy, yes. So long as they don't bring the war into the Great Hall tonight."
Dumbledore chuckled quietly. "Let them have this, Minerva. Tomorrow, the world will begin whispering again. Today, they're only children."
Down below, the laughter carried across the frozen grounds. The snow shimmered like powdered stars, and Hogwarts, for a brief and fragile moment, felt untouched by darkness.
By late afternoon, the laughter had thinned into the cold. The snowball war that had swallowed the castle lawns all morning ended not with victory, but exhaustion — alliances dissolving as quickly as they'd formed.
Students, cheeks flushed and cloaks soaked, trudged back toward their common rooms, still throwing half-hearted handfuls of snow at one another. The air buzzed faintly with excitement — the kind that lived between youth and expectation. In just a few hours, the Yule Ball would begin.
Slytherin's corridors, deep beneath the lake, carried that energy differently. The laughter here echoed off stone, distant and disciplined. The younger years that remained whispered about dress robes and who might be seen with whom, while the older students lounged before the fire, pretending not to care as they mentally counted the hours.
But one dormitory remained untouched by the noise.
Alden sat by the window, wand balanced loosely between his fingers, the last light of day pooling against the frost on the glass. The view beyond was muted and still — the lake frozen solid, the castle reflected faintly upon its surface. The only movement came from snow drifting like ash across the horizon.
On the desk before him lay a single object.
The bracelet gleamed faintly under the lamplight — silver-gold filigree so fine it looked alive, shifting subtly as if breathing. Around its center coiled a serpent of carved frostmetal, its eyes two pinpricks of blue light. In its coils rested a crystal the color of winter moonlight — the focus of the enchantment, delicate and quietly powerful.
Alden steadied his wand above it. The charm circle etched into the desk glowed faintly as he murmured the final rune. The air trembled, and a thread of cold light sank into the bracelet until the crystal gave one slow, pulsing heartbeat of blue and fell still.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The spell held.
He leaned back in the chair, the silence pressing against him like a tide. From somewhere far down the hall came a ripple of laughter — distant, harmless, human. He envied it in some quiet way.
His eyes dropped back to the bracelet. Something about it felt… misplaced. Not in craftsmanship — that was flawless — but in purpose.
A gift for a girl who had said yes.
Not because she saw what the world whispered he was.But because, perhaps, she saw what he didn't know how to be.
He turned the piece over in his hand, watching the frostlight catch in its curves. A strange irony settled in his chest — sharp and bitter.
He thought, how absurd this is.
A boy who had once whispered words sharp enough to erase a woman from existence now crafts protection into jewelry. Magic meant to preserve, not destroy.
He remembered the look on Rita Skeeter's face — the glint of her eyes when she'd asked if he thought he was the next Dark Lord. He remembered the cold clarity that followed, the flicker of silence that replaced her presence.
And now, here he was — carving warmth into metal for someone who had only smiled at him.
"Ridiculous," he muttered, voice barely a breath. "Completely ridiculous."
But his hand lingered on the bracelet a moment longer before setting it down.
He pushed aside the other parchment scattered across his desk — diagrams of transfiguration cycles, spell matrices, the sketch of a charm that could bend reflections. A dozen unfinished ideas, all calculated brilliance without connection. He used to think meaning was in mastery. Now, staring at a small silver serpent glinting against his palm, he wasn't so sure.
The wind pressed against the windowpane, thin and sighing. A sliver of cold crept through the crack, tracing frost along the sill.
He didn't move. Just watched. The light caught his reflection — sharp lines, tired eyes, silver hair ghosted by the dark. For a heartbeat, it shifted, the glass holding two versions of him — one looking forward, the other fading away.
His voice was low when it came. "Lonely isn't the absence of people. It's the absence of equals."
The reflection said nothing back.
He closed his hand around the bracelet, feeling its faint pulse of cold against his skin.
"Maybe she'll change that," he murmured, softer this time. "Just for tonight."
Outside, the sky had darkened to indigo, snow still falling in fine, endless threads. Hogwarts glowed faintly through the storm — a distant promise of light and warmth waiting at the edge of winter.
Alden set the bracelet down one last time, ensuring the runes within it were stable. Then he extinguished the lamp.
The room fell silent, save for the slow, measured beat of his heart and the whisper of snow against glass.
And somewhere deep in the castle above, laughter stirred again — soft, bright, and distant — a reminder that the night was waiting.
By six o'clock, the Slytherin dormitories had erupted into complete, elegant chaos.
The calm, cold precision that usually defined the house was gone — replaced by the unmistakable energy of fourteen-year-old boys attempting sophistication. The air smelled faintly of cologne, spell smoke, and panic.
"Where's my cufflink—no, not that one!" Draco barked, tearing through his trunk with the urgency of a man facing execution. "Mother will kill me if I lose those; they're charmed platinum!"
Theo, lounging on his bed and halfway through buttoning his vest, raised a brow. "You mean the same platinum cufflinks you've dropped four times already?"
"Three," Draco snapped. "And I found them every time!"
Blaise adjusted his own dark green tie in the mirror, unimpressed. "You're going to sweat through that robe before we even leave."
"Better sweat than look like I borrowed something from a funeral," Draco muttered, eyeing Blaise's all-black ensemble.
"That is the point," Blaise said smoothly. "Elegance is power. Subtle. Commanding."
"Boring," Theo cut in, his tie slightly crooked. "And completely unapproachable."
Draco shot him a look. "Please, you're wearing navy."
"It's midnight blue," Theo corrected with mock dignity. "And Tracy likes it."
At that, Draco groaned theatrically. "Merlin save us, romance has infected Nott."
Theo smirked. "At least I have someone to catch it from."
From across the room, Crabbe and Goyle were fumbling with their bowties, one of them accidentally hexing his collar stiff enough to strangle himself until Theo waved his wand in mild pity.
Alden, meanwhile, sat quietly at his desk, fastening the last clasp on his coat.
He hadn't said much all evening.
His outfit was simple but cut with precision — a black suit tailored close to his frame, silver-threaded trim running along the lapels and cuffs. The vest beneath shimmered faintly, deep green over black, like the color of the lake under moonlight. His silver-white hair caught the faint glow from the sconces, and when he stood, the movement was deliberate — unhurried, steady.
Draco caught sight of him and let out a low whistle. "You've got to be joking."
Theo looked up and blinked. "Bloody hell, Dreyse."
Blaise smirked faintly. "Now that's how you silence a room."
Alden glanced at them, expression unreadable. "It's a suit."
Draco gestured wildly. "It's not a suit — it's an entrance! If I didn't know you, I'd think you were here to buy Hogwarts."
Theo crossed his arms. "Admit it, you planned that."
Alden adjusted his cuffs, tone even. "I planned to not embarrass myself. That's all."
"You succeeded," Blaise said, tugging once at his sleeve. "Now the rest of us look underdressed."
From somewhere outside the dormitory, muffled voices echoed — laughter, girls talking in high tones, heels clicking faintly on the flagstones. The sound sent a ripple through the room.
Theo exhaled, suddenly looking less composed. "That'll be them."
Draco straightened his collar for the fifth time. "Right. So, we line up at the entrance, look presentable, and try not to trip when they come down the stairs."
"Trip?" Theo said, incredulous. "You mean bow."
Draco blinked. "That's worse."
Alden, watching them with faint amusement, said, "You two sound like you're heading into a duel."
Theo glanced at him. "In some ways, we are."
"True," Draco agreed grimly. "But the opponent's wearing perfume and heels."
Laughter broke through the tension, short and sharp. It helped.
They finished the last touches — Draco fixing his platinum cufflinks with triumphant precision, Theo smoothing out his robe, Blaise adjusting his collar with a spell that gleamed faintly. Crabbe and Goyle, somehow both wearing ties of entirely different colors, looked alarmingly pleased with themselves.
And then there was Alden.
When he fastened his cloak — deep green with faint silver embroidery curling along the edge like frozen smoke — even Draco fell quiet.
For a moment, the light from the lake beyond the windows refracted through the water, casting waves of pale green and silver across the walls. It washed over Alden's reflection in the mirror, setting his eyes — that strange shade between grey and green — aglow.
Theo caught his gaze in the reflection and shook his head. "You're not real sometimes, you know that?"
Alden blinked. "Should I take that as a compliment?"
Theo smirked. "Take it however you want. You're going to terrify half the girls waiting out there."
Draco sighed, buttoning his gloves. "And probably make the rest of us look like we should've stayed home."
Blaise laughed under his breath. "That's Slytherin spirit for you."
They left the dormitory together — the door swinging open into the common room, now lit in emerald and gold. The younger students still there looked up in quiet awe; the air shimmered faintly from the enchanted fire in the hearth, its reflection dancing across the serpent engravings carved into the ceiling.
Outside the entrance, other boys were already lined along the corridor, smoothing robes and whispering nervously to one another. Some checked their ties for the tenth time, others fidgeted or practiced smiles in the mirror-polished suits of armor.
The hum of anticipation was alive.
Theo leaned slightly toward Alden. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Alden's gaze was fixed straight ahead. "I don't think it's about being ready."
"What, then?"
"It's about showing up."
Theo grinned. "That's new for you."
Alden's lips twitched. "Trying something different."
They didn't need to say more.
Draco exhaled sharply, glancing at the clock. "Right. Here we go."
The sound of the common room door sliding open broke the air — a soft hiss of stone on stone. Light spilled into the corridor, warm and gold.
Laughter, voices — and the faintest scent of perfume.
Theo straightened. Draco squared his shoulders. Blaise smoothed his hair once more.
And Alden Dreyse — calm, collected, impossibly composed — stood in the half-light, silver hair glinting against the green torches, his expression unreadable.
Somewhere down the hall, the music of distant preparation echoed faintly — the first strings being tuned in the Great Hall.
The night had begun to move.
The corridors of the Slytherin dungeons hummed with quiet anticipation. Lanternlight flickered against the wet stone, casting reflections that rippled like serpents beneath the surface of a lake. The air smelled faintly of winter — cold and clean, trailing in from the snow-covered grounds above.
The boys stood waiting near the entrance arch, where the passage led upward into the castle proper. The faintest hint of nervous energy stirred among them, even if none would admit it aloud.
Theo tugged once at his sleeve, murmuring something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a self-reassurance spell. Draco, for all his posturing, adjusted his cufflinks for the seventh time. Blaise leaned casually against the wall, pretending nonchalance, though his foot tapped a faint rhythm on the stone floor. Crabbe and Goyle whispered to each other, their matching green cravats crooked in two completely different directions.
Alden stood apart, posture straight, expression unreadable. The faint hum of torches reflected in the silver threads of his cloak, his pale hair glinting like frost against the shadows. He looked calm — too calm.
Theo noticed, of course."You look like you're heading to an execution," he murmured, elbowing him lightly.
Alden's gaze didn't shift. "I am. Socially."
Draco let out a sharp laugh. "You'll live. Hopefully."
Before Alden could reply, a sound carried through the corridor — the echo of heels against stone. Light shifted, warm gold spilling through the archway as the girls appeared from the upper passage.
The conversation died instantly.
Daphne Greengrass was the first to step through the arch. Her gown was exactly as she'd described — deep green and black, the satin catching light like water over obsidian. The dress sat elegantly below her shoulders, silver threads tracing the curve of her neckline. Her hair was drawn back with quiet precision, a few loose strands framing her face like brushstrokes.
The change in the room was immediate.
Draco's posture straightened. Blaise gave a low, appreciative whistle before Theo jabbed him in the ribs. Even the torches seemed to dim, as if the light had chosen sides.
Daphne's eyes found Alden's almost immediately. There was no smile at first — just that steady, assessing gaze she was known for. The ice queen of Slytherin. Untouchable. Controlled.
And yet, when she saw him, the faintest curve touched her lips.
Alden inclined his head slightly, the gesture old-fashioned but graceful. "Miss Greengrass."
"Mr. Dreyse," she replied, voice soft but confident. Her tone carried that same composure she always had — calm, poised — though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something warmer.
Theo exhaled dramatically. "Merlin, you two sound like you're about to sign a treaty."
Tracey Davis — radiant in midnight blue with silver accents — elbowed him, smiling. "At least they sound civilized."
Theo grinned, offering her his arm. "Only because I've been taught by example."
Draco, already turning to Pansy, murmured a perfunctory "You look lovely," to which she preened, looping her arm around his immediately.
Blaise's date — a striking Beauxbatons girl with caramel hair and a curious smile — adjusted her shawl and said something in accented English that made him smirk.
Crabbe and Goyle had somehow found partners too — two fifth-year Slytherins who looked like they'd drawn the short straw but were determined to make the best of it.
Theo glanced around the group, visibly satisfied. "Well. We almost look respectable."
Draco muttered, "Almost."
Then Daphne took one measured step closer to Alden. Up close, the green of her dress echoed faintly in his eyes — that strange grey-green depth that seemed to change with the light.
"I thought you weren't planning to go," she said quietly, voice low enough that only he could hear.
"I wasn't," Alden replied, matching her calm. "But circumstances changed."
Her brows lifted slightly. "And what made you change your mind?"
He hesitated — just long enough for the moment to stretch thin. Then, with a quiet breath, he reached into his cloak and drew out a small box.
The silver clasp glinted under the torchlight.
"I prepared something," he said simply, opening it just enough for her to glimpse the bracelet within — the coiled serpent, the faint frost-blue crystal pulsing softly at its heart.
Daphne's expression softened, just barely. "It's beautiful."
"It's functional," Alden corrected, then added — almost too softly, "But I'm glad you think so."
Her fingers brushed the edge of the box before closing it gently. "You're impossible to read, you know that?"
He allowed the smallest smile. "So I've been told."
Theo's voice cut through the quiet moment like a spark. "Right, enough brooding romance. Shall we? Before McGonagall comes down here and drags us up by our collars?"
Tracey laughed, tugging lightly at his sleeve. "You just want to get to the food."
"That too."
The group began to move, the corridor filling with the soft rustle of robes and quiet laughter. The boys offered their arms; the girls took them. It felt… balanced, in a way — poised chaos under the guise of refinement.
As they stepped out of the dungeon passage, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The warmth of the upper halls wrapped around them, faint music already threading through the air from the Great Hall above. Students passed in pairs and clusters — laughter, perfume, nervous energy radiating off every step.
Theo and Tracey led the way, chatting easily. Draco and Pansy followed close behind, their bickering disguised as flirting. Blaise walked ahead with his Beauxbatons partner, their voices low and melodic.
And at the back — Alden and Daphne.
They walked side by side in silence, their steps falling into a quiet rhythm. The light from the sconces played over them — silver on black, green on green — reflections like water and frost intertwined.
Daphne glanced sideways at him once, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "For someone who didn't want to go, you look like you belong."
Alden's gaze stayed ahead. "I don't belong anywhere."
"Then maybe tonight, you do," she said softly.
He looked at her then — truly looked — and for a heartbeat, something almost fragile crossed his expression.
They reached the marble staircase leading up toward the Great Hall. Music, laughter, the hum of voices grew louder. The light spilling from the entrance glowed gold against the frost of their shadows.
Alden offered her his arm.
She took it without hesitation.
And together, they stepped into the warmth.