The air hummed with enchantments as house-elves darted back and forth, carrying armfuls of gleaming silk robes, jeweled accessories, and polished dragon-hide shoes.

You stood before one of the mirrors as a house-elf fussed with the intricate fastenings of your gown — a masterpiece of emerald silk that shimmered like liquid magic with every movement.

Draco adjusted the cuffs of his tailored robes nearby, his reflection sharp and confident. The deep black fabric was accented with silver detailing, perfectly fitted to his tall frame. "This gala better be worth the effort," he grumbled.

"It always is," you remarked dryly, inspecting the final adjustments to your gown. "Half the wizarding elite would hex their way in just for a chance to be seen here."

Mattheo burst through the double doors, his tie undone and his curls rebelliously untamed. "I swear, if anyone tries to make me wear one of those hideous cravats, I'll set it on fire," he declared.

"You look like you just dueled a dragon," Draco quipped, eyeing Mattheo's disheveled state with disdain.

"That’s my charm, mate," Mattheo shot back, winking.

Blaise strode in with his robes already impeccably tailored. "Some of us know how to dress without causing a scene," he said smoothly, casting a pointed glance at Mattheo.

Regulus appeared next, his robes tailored to perfection. "It’s a gala, not a street brawl," he said dryly to Mattheo.

Theo leaned casually against the doorway. "You all look like you're heading to war," he teased.

"Fashion is war," Lorenzo chimed in, adjusting the cuffs of his robes. "And as always, I intend to win."

"You sound like my mother," Draco muttered, earning a laugh from you.

The gala was about to begin. You took one last look in the mirror, satisfaction gleaming in your eyes. "Ready?"

Draco smirked. "Always."

As you and your friends descended the grand staircase, the opulence of the Manor sparkled beneath the glow of thousands of enchanted lanterns.

Tonight, you were not just attendees — you were royalty among the elite.