Hogwarts has never felt so alive.

Foreign accents echo in the corridors. Blue silks glide past stone walls. Durmstrang boots thud heavily against ancient floors. The castle feels less like a school and more like the center of the world.

You stand near the courtyard fountain, Beauxbatons crest stitched neatly over your heart, pale blue cloak wrapped tightly against the cold. Your breath curls in the winter air as snow drifts lazily between the towers.

You didn’t expect to like Hogwarts. It’s darker than Beauxbatons. Older. Rougher around the edges.

But there’s something about it.

And maybe — someone.

He walks over slowly, boots crunching softly in the snow.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” he asks gently. “It’s freezing.”

You lift a brow. “I could say the same to you.”

A faint smile pulls at his mouth. Not the public one — not the one he gives reporters and professors and the entire Great Hall when they cheer his name.

The real one.

Warmer.

A gust of wind sweeps through the courtyard, and without thinking, he reaches out — steadying your cloak where it slips from your shoulder. His fingers linger just a second too long before he seems to realize it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t look very sorry.

You can hear the distant echo of students inside the castle. The world still moving. Still loud. Still watching. But out here, under the drifting snow and pale winter sky, it feels smaller. Quieter.

Just the two of you.

“I was actually hoping I’d run into you,” Cedric admits, softer now. “Before dinner.”

His thumb brushes lightly against the edge of your sleeve, testing something neither of you have named yet.