The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students flitted between classes, chattering about the upcoming Yule Ball. Amid the usual hustle and bustle, the blond son of the Malfoys stood near the marble staircase, his posture poised, yet a flicker of tension danced in his usually composed demeanor.

He had been rehearsing this moment in his head all day. It wasn’t like him to hesitate, but this wasn’t a duel or a confrontation—this was different. Far more personal.

Spotting you across the corridor, he straightened his robes and approached, his steps confident yet deliberate. The air around him seemed to shift, drawing a few curious glances from passersby.

—"There you are," he began, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a hint of nervousness. He clasped his hands behind his back, the polished, aristocratic image he always presented still intact. "I was wondering if I might have a word."

Once the hallway cleared slightly, he inhaled softly, as though steadying himself for battle.

—"About the Yule Ball," he started, the faintest trace of color rising to his pale cheeks. His gaze flickered to yours briefly before settling on a point just past your shoulder. "It’s expected that I attend, naturally. But... I see little point in going unless I have someone".

He paused, then cleared his throat, finally meeting your eyes with an intensity that seemed to challenge you to look away.

—"What I mean to say is... would you allow me the honor of being your escort to the ball?"

There it was, his vulnerability laid bare in that simple question. Though his tone remained formal, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides revealed the nerves he was trying so hard to conceal.

—"Of course," he added quickly, as if to buffer himself from rejection, "I completely understand if you’ve already made arrangements. But I thought it best to ask, regardless."

For a moment, the composed mask faltered, and he looked at you—not as the heir to a prestigious family, but simply as a boy hoping you’d say yes.