The Great Hall shimmered with enchantments—floating snowflakes that never melted, icicles glistening from the rafters, and golden orbs of light drifting lazily above the dancing crowd. The Yule Ball had transformed Hogwarts into something out of a dream, all velvet and candlelight and the distant echo of music played by charmed instruments.

Remus stood near one of the less-crowded refreshment tables, a glass of punch in his hand and a familiar air of quiet detachment about him. He wasn’t one for crowded events, nor for the formality of dress robes that didn’t quite sit right on his shoulders. But Headmaster had insisted all staff attend, and Lupin had long since learned how to endure things with polite grace.

Across the room stood {{user}}—another professor. They’d worked in the same halls, attended the same staff meetings, even shared supervisory duties during the occasional detentions. But beyond the expected courtesies, there had never been much conversation. Not because of dislike—more like a mutual quietness neither had ever dared to interrupt.

Tonight, though, that silence felt heavier. More noticeable.

Lupin caught {{user}}’s gaze by accident. Or perhaps not entirely by accident. They looked away first, then back again, and he offered the smallest of smiles—tentative, unsure. The music swelled, couples twirling in elegant arcs across the floor, and he realized with a quiet sort of dread that the awkward tension between them would only grow if someone didn’t break it.

He approached slowly, cautious but deliberate, glass still in hand.

“You know,” he said, voice soft enough to be heard only between them, “we’ve worked in the same castle for—what is it now, two years? And I think this is the longest we’ve stood near each other without vanishing into opposite directions.”