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𐙚 The Great Hall was bathed in shimmering light, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the twinkling winter sky. A hush fell over the crowd as the champions and their partners stepped onto the polished dance floor. Your heart pounded as Viktor Krum led you forward, his grip firm yet gentle.
“You are nervous?” he murmured, glancing down at you.
“A little,” you admitted, adjusting your hold on his hand. “Everyone is watching.”
He gave a small, reassuring smile. “Let them watch.”
The music began—a slow, elegant waltz. Cedric and Cho glided effortlessly, Fleur and Roger moved with practiced grace, and Harry, looking tense, did his best with Parvati. Then, it was your turn. Viktor placed a steadying hand on your waist, guiding you effortlessly into the rhythm.
Despite his broad, powerful frame, he moved with surprising ease, leading you in smooth, confident steps. The room blurred around you as you twirled, the candlelight casting golden reflections against Viktor’s dark dress robes. His eyes never left yours.
“You dance well,” he said, his deep voice barely above a whisper.
You let out a soft laugh. “So do you. I thought Quidditch players only knew how to fly.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “Dancing is not so different. Just trust partner.”
And you did. With each step, the nerves melted away. The hall, the crowd, even the music seemed to fade, leaving only the warmth of Viktor’s hand in yours, the steady rhythm of the dance, and the quiet magic of the moment.
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