This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

The large panes of glass are frosted over, plump white snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky to nestle against the black stone ledges of the castle’s windows.

Outside, the air is bitter and sharp, the gales rushing down from the mountains to nip at the ankles of passing students like a playful, persistent pup. The faint scent of pine and spiced cider wafts in from somewhere, curling through the corridors like a whisper of the season.

The Great Hall, in contrast, is awash in warmth. A roaring fire crackles in the massive hearth at the far end, its light dancing across the polished floor in golden ribbons. Above, the enchanted ceiling mirrors the wintry night sky, a tapestry of stars scattered between drifting clouds.

Professors and students weave charms through the air, conjuring strings of enchanted holly that coil themselves neatly around the banisters. Every so often, a garland sighs with satisfaction as a dusting of glittering frost settles over it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I take in the glittering display, the soft golden glow of hundreds of floating candles, the sparkle of tinsel on towering Christmas trees dressed in the colors of the four Houses.

House elves flit in and out with trays of sugar-dusted biscuits that steam in the cold air near the windows. Silver snowflakes drift endlessly from the enchanted ceiling, each one unique, melting into nothing before they touch the floor.

The air hums with music, faint, lilting notes from a bewitched harp in the corner. It’s… impressive. Almost beautiful.

I roll my eyes. Everyone else is giddy because it’s a celebration. For me, it’s an obligation. A performance. My attendance is not optional, a Shade does not skip the Yule Ball. We appear. We charm. We represent the family name, just as we have for centuries.

Fun? There’s no such thing as fun for me.

I turn away from the glittering trees, letting the music and laughter blur into the background. The weight of expectation presses as heavily as the Slytherin crest stitched into my robes, a constant reminder of the role I was born into.

Sometimes, and I’d never admit this aloud — I wish things could be different.