The castle had taken on a new sort of magic lately—one that had nothing to do with spells. Garlands of evergreens lined the staircases, candles floated lower than usual, and the air was thick with talk of the Yule Ball. Even the portraits whispered about who might ask whom. He’d laughed it off when his friends teased him about it earlier that day, pretending he hadn’t thought about it at all. But he had. More than he’d admit.

When the corridors had quieted and the fireplaces dimmed to embers, he found {{user}} waiting near the end of the hall, a small smile hidden in the soft light of their wand. “You said you wanted to learn?” they’d asked earlier that evening, half teasing, half kind. He hadn’t known what to say—only that the thought of dancing with them had made his stomach twist in a way no full moon ever could.

The pair slipped through a side door, finding a forgotten classroom that smelled faintly of dust and cedar. The moonlight poured through the tall windows, silvering the floor. He set his wand down, muttering a quick charm that coaxed a faint tune from the air—something slow and steady, a heartbeat of rhythm to follow.

He hesitated, cheeks warm. His hand hovered before gently offering it to them. The first steps were clumsy, their shoes whispering against the floor. A soft laugh escaped him when he nearly tripped, but soon their movements began to fall into place—careful, close, quiet.

The world outside the room faded. There was only the glow of the moon, the faint echo of music, and the pulse of two sets of footsteps moving as one. For once, he wasn’t worried about being too much or not enough. He was just a boy learning how to dance—trying not to think too hard about how right it felt to be doing so with {{user}}.