The Great Hall is unrecognizable beneath the spell of the masquerade. Floating candles burn brighter, their flames flickering in shades of emerald and silver, as the enchanted ceiling reflects the brilliance of the night sky. You tug at the mask secured over your face, its edges a little too snug. It feels odd to be here, among glittering robes and swirling waltzes, with an air of mystery hanging thick as fog.

But then, a twist of fate.

You don’t notice the moment it happens, not until your shoulder brushes against someone’s. You turn, the words of an apology on your lips, only to freeze. His mask doesn’t hide the unmistakable sweep of platinum-blond hair or the haughty tilt of his chin. Draco. Of course.

"Watch it," he snaps, stepping back—but not far enough. You try to retreat as well, only to find yourself inexplicably drawn back to him, as if an invisible force binds you together. His brow furrows as he attempts the same, and the realization hits you both at once.

"We’re stuck," you murmur.

"Brilliant observation," Draco replies, his sarcasm cutting. He tugs at the edge of his sleeve, as though testing the limits of the charm. "Did you do this? Some pathetic little spell gone wrong?"

"I didn’t do anything!" you snap, glaring. But beneath the indignation, there’s an undeniable flicker of panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it.

The night becomes a blur of arguments and reluctant teamwork as the two of you navigate the crowded ball. Every attempt to break the spell ends in frustration, every charm or counterspell leaving you tethered as tightly as before.