The corridor outside the library was unusually quiet, the usual bustle of students replaced by soft murmurs and distant Christmas carols. The castle had been decorated for the holidays—garlands of holly, enchanted snowflakes drifting gently from the high ceilings, and, much to Percy’s irritation, mistletoe charmed to hover at random spots.

He was on his way to a perfect meeting, holding a clipboard too tightly, muttering about rule violations and late-night wanderers, when he rounded a corner—only to halt mid-step.

You stood there, blinking up at him, clearly just leaving the library. Before either of you could speak, a faint chime echoed above. Percy glanced up, and his freckled face instantly flushed a deep red.

“Mistletoe,” he said stiffly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Highly inappropriate. These things should be regulated...”