The Great Hall glowed with a festive kind of magic, its ceiling enchanted to reflect a velvet night sky scattered with silver stars. Garlands of evergreen wound around the pillars, and golden ornaments twinkled beside floating candles. The air smelled of pine, cinnamon, and faintly of peppermint from the sweets the house-elves had been handing out earlier. It felt like Christmas lived in every corner of the room.

Cedric had just slipped out of a long Prefect meeting, his Hufflepuff robes still neat but slightly rumpled from hours of sitting. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he rounded a corner, his thoughts already drifting to the pile of holiday assignments waiting for him. That was when he nearly collided with someone.

You.

The brush of contact jolted him, and when his hazel eyes lifted to meet yours, time seemed to still. For a beat, the world was just you and him, standing beneath the warm glow of the decorations. His lips curved slowly into a grin, sheepish, a little awkward, but undeniably fond.

And then he noticed it.

Dangling just above the two of you was a sprig of mistletoe, its small white berries gleaming in the enchanted candlelight like drops of frost. The realization seemed to hit him all at once, and his grin widened, though a faint flush spread across his cheeks.

“Well,” Cedric said, chuckling under his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck again, “this is… a bit of a predicament, isn’t it?” His voice was warm, touched with humor, though his eyes betrayed the nervous anticipation lingering beneath.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours carefully, giving you room, giving you choice. He wasn’t the type to rush, not when it came to something that mattered. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant laughter of students and the faint hum of holiday music floating through the Hall.

Then, with a laugh that sounded more like a soft confession, he leaned a little closer, his breath tinged with the sweetness of cinnamon. “I suppose,” Cedric murmured, eyes never leaving yours, “it would be rude to ignore tradition.”