Outern Pembroke, Wales | A Fo(u)r Teen Gala | Open

Gareth’s family villa had been turned upside down to host the guests for his fourteenth birthday gala. Gareth had wanted a simple party, just a few friends and schoolmates, but his parents, as always, had blown things out of proportion, transforming the event into a sort of gala for teenagers: a debutante ball for magical society and, who knows, perhaps a chance for new romances to blossom.
The villa had been polished to perfection; "Happy Birthday" banners, along with the pure-blood family’s crest and motto, were displayed everywhere; balloons and pseudo-Bludgers floated near the ceilings, the tables were adorned everywhere with flowers and scented candles, and napkins in the house colors were elegantly laid out for each guest. Everyone had an assigned seat with their name at the tables set up for the dinner, one for adults and one for minors. And after a lavish dinner another great room was ready for a grand ball.

Schoolmates and relatives had been invited via owl weeks in advance, with a request for an answer to help coordinate everyone’s arrival. While magical families and acquaintances could reach the estate via Floo Powder or other magical means, the Muggle families were offered a perhaps far more luxurious entrance. At the Prince family’s expense, the invited students and their families could stay at a nearby hotel before taking a carriage ride along the scenic Mill Pond Walk, which was organized by his mother Lucy. At a certain point, the carriage would turn onto a road not marked on Muggle maps and passing through an invisible magical barrier, it would enter the estate grounds. The carriage would then pull up to the main entrance, where the assembled family awaited the passengers.

Gareth stood at the forefront, wearing a long, teal-colored robe that shimmered with shifting silver highlights. Behind him stood his father, dressed in elegant, dark blue 16th-century attire, and his mother, who had a more rustic air yet remained elegant, though she was more intent on tending to the carriage horses than on greeting the arriving guests. Gareth and his father would then step forward, offering their hands in a courtly manner to help the guests out of the carriage and escorting the newcomers to the party, while Letho, the family’s house-elf, also dressed for the occasion, acted as a butler, circulating with trays of treats and drinks for everyone. Haytham and Lucy, Gareth’s parents, would busy themselves entertaining the adults, making introductions and discussing topics ranging from politics and economics to magic, animals, and plants, leaving Gareth free to truly enjoy the company of the friends invited by him or his parents.

After a lavish dinner featuring an equal mix of magical and Muggle dishes, the gala, set beneath a ceiling of fake stars, was set to begin. Soft lighting and music played by enchanted instruments filled the air, while sweets, drinks, and even candies, even the kind banned at school, were still being served to those eager to indulge. There would be time to open gifts later, unless someone happened to thrust one into his hands right away while he was trying to chat with everyone and agreeing to dance with anyone who asked. He really ought to have been the one to make the first move and ask someone to dance, but he didn't feel ready for that yet; doing so would be like admitting he liked someone, wouldn't it?

Maevie had arrived on her own. Though her mother had accompanied her to the hotel the Prince’s were paying for, she had declined to come along for the party itself. Maevie knew it was because her mother would feel uncomfortable among all the wizards and witches, not quite understanding of this world. She had claimed to be tired, but Maevie hadn’t said anything.

Instead, she had hugged her, promised to be careful and back at a reasonable time, and then found a spot on one of the provided carriages by herself. She had put on her best dress, the one her mum had made for her extra for the occasion, falling to her calves in a butter yellow, with short, frilly sleeves and a boat neckline. Her shoes matched in colour, heels no higher than a mere inch, but it was her currently proudest possession.

Her first pair, and the first time she got to wear them out.

With her hair pinned up in ways she thought she could never replicate, all thanks to her mum as well, Maevie felt like the prettiest she’d ever been. It was a new sensation and one she wasn’t all that sure about — she had never really thought about such things before. Nevertheless, she found she liked it all.

Maevie greeted both Gareth and his parents when she arrived, entering the family’s villa with wide eyes and brimming excitement. She had never been in a place like this, with that many people, all dressed in their finest. Tilly was there too, and for a few minutes, Maevie joined her and the massive guy by her side, carrying a look like stone on his face. He had seemed rather boring, so she had left the two to themselves soon after, bouncing off to the next most interesting thing.

When dinner finished, and music finally began to play, Maevie joined Gareth’s side. “It’s been so fun!” she said by way of greeting, beaming at the birthday boy. “Are you going to dance? My mum sent me to a course this summer, to learn all the steps. She said it’s important.” She shrugged a little, as though it was just old-people talk you couldn’t quite argue with.

“You wanna?” Maevie smiled, sort of eager to try and see if she’d contained it all.

---

mentions of Tilly approved by player <3

The summer had been a whirlwind.

Shopping trips through Paris. Endless fittings where her grandmother found something new to criticize each time. A waist that wasn't quite small enough. Shoulders that needed to be straighter. Ten pounds that could always be lost. A smile that showed too much enthusiasm. Never quite elegant enough for Allegra. Luncheons where everyone knew which fork to use and exactly what not to say. Three weeks of etiquette lessons that somehow managed to make walking across a room feel like an test. By the time she returned home, Matilda was fairly certain she could host a formal dinner for thirty guests while balancing a teacup on her head.

She still wasn't convinced she'd enjoy it.

Letters arrived every few days in familiar handwriting, often making her laugh out loud. Writing him was nice, but seeing him was better. Their summer had been filled with garden parties, galas and dinner dates. Seeing Drago had become the easiest part of her summer.

There were less than three weeks until Hogwarts. Less than three weeks before she'd only get to see him during Hogsmeade weekends. The thought settled darkly in her chest. This term away from her boyfriend wasn’t going to be easy.

Boyfriend…

The title didn’t seem right. Probably because it wasn't true. Officially he was her betrothed, fiance, future husband, and a dozen other titles that she was afraid to say out loud.

Somewhere between late night studying, hiding in the greenhouse, birthday dinners and knee bending kisses, pretending she wasn't in love had become impossible.

Which was both wonderful...and absolutely terrifying.

Getting ready for the party, Tilly chose a blue flapper style party dress. Beading decorated the fabric and tulle ruffles adorned the bottom adding a fun and flirty flair. Her hair was up in a short wavy style, pinned with small jeweled hair clips.

Thankfully, magic helped in the makeup department. Applying her favorite kiss-resistant lipstick in a deep shade of red, Matilda smiled at her reflection as it settled perfectly into place. Magical lipstick had become a necessity ever since Drago had discovered kissing Matilda was one of his favorite hobbies. Kissing was apparently the perfect way to say hello... goodbye... good luck... and occasionally nothing at all.

---

Walking down the stairs of her London townhouse, where she lived with Bram, Matilda smiled the moment she spotted Drago waiting below. Goosebumps erupted across her arms, making the hair at the back of her neck stand at attention.

She paused close to the bottom of the staircase, just high enough that they were nearly eye level, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face. "Dearest.” She smiled with a mischievous edge. ”You look very handsome tonight. Shall we go before we're fashionably late?"

A month ago she would have laughed at the idea. Now she actually knew there was such a thing as arriving too early. Or too late. Or precisely seven minutes after the stated time, which Madame Beaumont insisted showed confidence without appearing rude.

Matilda still thought it was ridiculous. Unfortunately... she also knew it was true. The confidence she'd carried home from Paris had lasted exactly one garden party. One conversation with Oleg Zdravkova had been enough to remind her that knowing which fork belonged with the fish course wasn't the hard part.

Living up to the expectations of the Zdravkova family… That was something else entirely. Instinctively, her fingers found Drago's arm as they turned on the spot and disappeared into the night.

---

Arriving at the Prince estate, Matilda couldn't help but pause for a moment, taking in the villa. It was beautiful... and just a little intimidating.

Instinctively, she smoothed the front of her dress before slipping her hand lightly around Drago's arm. A gesture that was almost instinctual.

Spotting the birthday boy greeting guests near the entrance, Matilda dipped into a graceful curtsey, her smile warm without being too ‘much.’

"Gareth, thank you for inviting us." Her voice was calm and polished, every word exactly as Madame Beaumont would have wanted. "And happy birthday. I hope today has been everything you wished for."

Straightening, a glimmer of her usual personality returned to her eyes.

"Though I do hope you have a chance to enjoy at least five minutes of your own party. Being the guest of honor looks exhausting." her smile grew, unable to stop the silliness from showing.

Walking into the villa, Matilda took in the decor in awe. It was a gorgeous display with lights and flowers touching every surface. Maevie came to walk with them for a bit, but didn't stay long. Dinner was a lavish spread, delicious as one would expect. Matilda kept conversation moving with those around her, always aware that some part of Drago was always touching her. His arm pressed up against hers, their knees brushing under the table, their hands linked. With the dinner cleared, Matilda watched as people began to stand, moving away from the tables headed towards the dance floor or quiet corners to talk. Putting her elbow on the table, etiquette be damned, she rested her head in her hand and turned to find the brown eyes she knew would be on her. "Shall we dance? Or did you have something else in mind?"

Smile and wave, smile and wave. It wasn’t easy to keep up appearances and greet people you barely cared about. It didn’t matter if they were high-society purebloods; it was hard to remember the names of anyone’s cousin-sister-grandfather. Some were easier to recognize by their family name than by any actual personal connection. Matilda Nordstrom was one such case; she was still studying at the castle, just like him, yet he couldn't claim to have any real relationship with her beyond random encounters at high-society magical events. ”Miss Nordstrom,” he greeted her with a gesture resembling a hand-kiss without actually making contact, lest her fiancé take offense at such gallantry. ”Thank *you* for agreeing to come. I hope you’re comfortable; if not, well, just let me know and I’ll see to it.” His words sounded perhaps a bit forced, like a script he recited to guest after guest, a stark contrast to the openness and ease he showed with people he was actually close to.

He leaned a little closer to her ear and whispered, his tone far more sincere: ”I hope so too, though I’m not so sure about how things are going.” He pulled back just in time to avoid a reproving little cough from his father. ”If I recall correctly, you love gardening, don’t you? Our gardens are open if you’d like to take a stroll through them. Mother recently brought back a new plant from India. I’m sure she’d be delighted to talk to you about it for hours, if you asked.” The “for hours” muttered under his breath served almost as a deterrent; she’d best not ask anything unless she wanted to suffer the grim fate of being held captive by the host’s mother, forced to learn about everything from plants to the exotic animals encountered on her travels. If she wanted to be with her beloved, it was best not to ask questions, but the choice was hers to make at her own risk.

One guest, then another, and another, one after the other; society parties are such a bore. He was delighted to see a Muggle carriage arrive carrying a fellow student; he practically broke away from the guest he was currently with to go and welcome her. ”Maevie,” he greeted her, holding out his hand to help her step down from the carriage. ”Are you alone? Didn't you write that your parents were coming too?” he asked, his tone much more casual and less princely. ”Perhaps they’d prefer to play tourist? I can recommend a few sights nearby. Stackpole Quay if they love animals and nature, or Pembroke Castle for the architecture. You would have seen it on the way here, but it’s even better from the inside... well, not quite like Hogwarts, of course...” Since they were guests here, why not take the opportunity to see some of the local sights? ”There’s Barafundle Beach if you want to go for a swim.” After all, it was still summer, and the weather was relatively warm.
He then introduced his classmate to his parents and kept her company for a few minutes before having to return to the endless duty of greeting every single guest; curse the moment he’d agreed to host this party.

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He had just swiped a pastry from a table by the edge of the dance floor when Maevie caught him almost off guard. He coughed up the powdered sugar that had tried to choke him, then composed himself as quickly as possible to look back at his partner. ”I’m glad you like it. You know, I was afraid it might be too boring or too… magic-centric… that Muggles wouldn’t understand… you know?” he confided, before finally biting into the little devil that had tried to kill him, savoring the cream filling. It was both a way to exact revenge—and also a way to keep his mouth shut after saying the wrong thing. He slowly wiped his hands with a handkerchief tucked into his teal-colored outfit. ”Um, sure. But I should warn you, I don’t consider myself all that good.” He smiled, trying to ease the awkwardness, before offering his hand to lead her further onto the dance floor. He planned to catch the rhythm first, one-two-three, one-two-three—before fully committing to the dance with his partner. He’d taken a few lessons, more out of necessity than pleasure, but there was certainly room for improvement regarding his initial stiffness. ”I can’t wait to get back to school. I hope this year is better than the last ones, and that we might get dueling and Quidditch back.”

Summertime had been unfairly busy for June Hargrove. As soon as the term ended, her aunty ushered in constant outings and events for her and her older sister to attend. There were etiquette tutors that constantly glared at her casual speak and attitudes. Small gatherings of the richer members of society, where she would find a corner to hide in. All the while, her older sister used every opportunity to suck-up to these strangers.

Her sister called it 'networking' and scolded June for not partaking.

The younger just stuck her tongue out, and refused to cooperate.

No matter what though, she hated to see the disappointment from her aunty's face. So she tried to socialize when she could, tried to listen to her tutors. Until another person said something absolutely stupid, and then the girl would argue relentlessly, ruining her personal reputation further.

Whatever.

---

It was early August when the invitation arrived. A very rare day indeed, where it was muggy and sticky and all productivity was paused.

June was lounging on a worn chair out on their small balcony, facing the small river that ran through the town. Her hair was wrapped up in a very loose bun atop her head, not that it helped to cool her any. Her sister was seated just inside the house, at the kitchen table. The older girl, going into her fifth year soon, was writing a letter to one of her friends.

"Isn't that the 3rd letter you've written this week to her, Irene? Just invite her over!" June half-heartedly yelled towards the open door. The 'her' she was referring to was Irene's best friend at school.

"We are colleagues, not friends, Juney." Her sister had snapped back. June rolled her eyes. How stuck up could Irene get?

The relatively relaxed atmosphere was shattered upon their fireplace exploding into a familiar, green fire.

Aunty Agatha came through the fireplace, still dressed in her typical workplace uniform. In her hands, she clasped a very fancy and important looking letter.

"GIRLS! Come here!" The oldest witch called.

With a petulant groan, June joined her sister who also seemed annoyed.

---

"A gala? Aunty, do I have to go??" June whined. She didn't bother to look for her sister's opinion on the matter. She knew that Irene was already scheming about it.

"Yes. No, you cannot get out of it. And YES, we will ALL be procuring new robes for this. June, you've literally grown almost three inches taller since you came home. You cannot wear your sister's old ballgown." And that was that.

June Hargrove would be attending the gala celebrating the birthday of Gareth Price.

Whoever that was.

---

Stepping out of the ornate fireplace, June allowed her aunt to whisk away any ash that lingered on her from their travel. In a silent gasp, the young witch took in her sights.

The hall was grand, with elegant decorations. The manor must have been a beauty as it was, but June could appreciate how much they must have done to truly make the place magical.

The witch was adorned in a pastel green gown, with whimsical sleeves and a delicate crown of laurel leaves atop her curled hair. The outfit was very pretty, June couldn't deny, but it was incredibly uncomfortable to wear. She usually preferred more simpler dresses, but altogether didn't wear them much either.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Gryffindor saw her aunt and sister both disperse to opposite sides of the hall, to 'network'. Though, maybe her aunt was just talking to some coworkers. June didn't care enough to find out.

June spotted a familiar face quicker than she had anticipated, and with a grin made her way other to Maevie.

The Hufflepuff girl was dressed in a beautiful buttercream colored gown that seemed to make her glow.

"Maevie! Hello! You look amazing." The girl gushed, greeting her warmly.

June was very happy to see her friend.

While Matilda had been travelling and learning, Drago had been working. There had been no time to unwind or relax once he’d returned from Hogwarts; those words were foreign concepts to the Zdravkova family. Drago had returned to Harewood House on Saturday, seven years of school concluding with a strange feeling of silence and finality, and on Monday, real life had begun.

Starting at a certain age, every son of Oleg Zdravkova spent their summers at Argentum Memoriae, with a couple of weeks of internship, growing in responsibility and complexity as they got older. Now that Drago had graduated and was awaiting the start of his Auror training, the nature of what he had become privy to had changed drastically. He supposed Father had found a future spot for him, but as with anything, Drago took it on with dutiful obedience.

He hadn’t told Matilda much about it in his letters, and he had kept it that way all summer.

There were certain things better left unmentioned.

---

When she descended the stairs outside her home in London, Drago felt his inherent rigidity melt away by a fraction, as it always did the moment Matilda stepped into his orbit. Shoulders loosening slightly, a smile spread over his face. He stepped up to meet her at the bottom of the stairs, keeping his hands safely tucked behind his back. “Dearest,” she greeted him, and Drago smiled wider, enjoying the glint of mischief in her eyes. “You look very handsome tonight. Shall we go before we're fashionably late?"

Ever since her Parisian etiquette course, Matilda had adopted a playful way of incorporating her new knowledge into their conversations and with others, proper yet subtly mocking, and he loved that too. He knew she found it all ridiculous, but he also knew she was aware of its necessity. That balance between humour and sincerity… He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Thank you, my beautiful. Never more handsome than you are pretty”, he said, taking her hand in his to press a light kiss to her knuckles before stepping aside to guide her down the last steps. “And yes, I suppose we have to, lest we insult your grandmother’s hard work, and she makes you attend another fun course.” He grinned, but he couldn’t lie; he was almost a little thankful for Allegra’s intervention. Matilda's social skills had improved significantly over those three weeks, and Drago had barely managed to keep his eyes off of her since.

He couldn’t say why, but watching her was simply mesmerising, now so more than ever.

Apparating them away, Drago’s smile lingered.

---

He forced himself back into his public persona, posture broad and straight, face politely composed. Gareth received a firm handshake and brief birthday congratulations before Drago led the way inside the villa before Matilda’s silliness got the chance to fully break through. As much as she had improved, at times she still slipped without notice, and over the course of the summer he had become something of an expert in sensing it approach, ready to redirect in time. The garden party at Harewood House had shown just how quickly things could go wrong, and Drago didn’t think he could stomach another of his father’s interventions.

Though it hadn’t turned out as bad as he’d first feared, Drago knew to interpret this as the warning it was. The next time wouldn’t go over as harmlessly.

Dinner went well, however. Conversations flowed and time flew by, and before he knew it, music had begun to play, drawing couples towards the dance floor. His gaze rested on Matilda when she turned to look at him, a smile playing around his lips. There she was again, a glimpse of the real Matilda. He leaned in as he reached for the hand propping her head up, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “I do, but I am not telling you what it is,” he said, planting a quick kiss on the edge of her jaw, then pulled her to her feet.

“Let’s go dance.” Keeping her hand in his, he found them a spot among the couples already moving, put them into position, and, after a beat, began leading them through familiar steps. Looking down at her, he still couldn’t stop his smile from showing. A fraction always seemed to shimmer through.

Fighting the urge to lean in, Drago lightly squeezed her hand instead. “I am proud of you,” he said, his tone low to keep their conversation private. “I know you don’t like the etiquette and pretence, but you are doing well. Thank you for trying.” It was perhaps an empty gratitude. What choice did she really have? Nevertheless, Drago could see the amount of effort she was putting in, and he appreciated her all the more for it.

“I don’t think it’s boring at all,” Maevie said with emphasis, gesturing with her hand to encompass the room. “This is amazing! I’ve never seen anything like this. And the food was delicious too. Even better than at Hogwarts. Do you have house elves too for the cooking?” She smiled at Gareth, leaving his concern about muggles uncommented. It was exactly what she suspected her mother had been too scared of, but she didn’t want to speak badly of her.

She thought she could understand. At first, she had felt quite overwhelmed too, but she supposed it was different for children.

To her delight, Gareth agreed to dance, and Maevie took his hand to be led onto the floor. A few people were already moving, but she suppressed the urge to watch, keeping her eyes off the ground and her own feet as well. The dance instructor had said that wasn’t proper. After a moment, Gareth began to move, and Maevie followed along.

“I can’t wait to get back to school. I hope this year is better than the last ones, and that we might get dueling and Quidditch back.”

Maevie nodded, concentrating hard on the correct order of steps, trying her best to keep the distance between them steady. “Me too,” she said, almost twisting the wrong way but catching herself in time. “I really want to try for Seeker. I love racing. Which position would you play?”

If they’d even pick her. She bet there were at least fifty people better than her, older students with faster brooms and more practice. It was okay though. As long as she’d make the bench, she’d be happy. She wanted one of those nifty uniforms she’d seen in Quidditch magazines.

Steps flowing smoothly enough for her first real dance, Maevie was about to add another question when a familiar voice called from behind.

"Maevie! Hello! You look amazing.”

Maevie’s head swung around, a bright smile appearing and she completely missed her step, bumping into Gareth.

“Oof.” Her hand gripped around his, keeping herself and him from tumbling to the ground or straight into the next couple. “Sorry, Gareth.” A blush crept up her cheeks, embarrassment heating her face. She quickly looked back around to grin at her approaching friend.

“Hi June! I didn’t know you were coming.” A small gasp fell from her lips as she fully took her in. “Wow, you look so pretty!” she ooh-ed, clapping her hands excitedly. “What an amazing dress! You look like a princess. Gareth!” Beaming, Maevie faced the birthday boy again. “This is June Hargrove, a friend of mine. We snuck into the kitchen together last term.”

“I do, but I am not telling you what it is,” The kiss against the edge of her jaw sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. She exhaled a large breath, trying to keep her wits about her.

Merlin...

“Let’s go dance.” he said, pulling her onto the dance floor. She followed, not because she wanted to dance, but because she was suddenly very interested in discovering what else he wanted to do. Drago smiled far more easily these days, and every one she managed to earn made her heart skip. The man leading her onto the dance floor was a far cry from the one she'd met nearly a year ago. .

Months ago she would have been counting every step, terrified of embarrassing herself, and him. Now her feet found the rhythm without much thought. Left. Together. Right. Turn. He was a great partner, leading them with strength through the steps. “I am proud of you, I know you don’t like the etiquette and pretence, but you are doing well. Thank you for trying.”

Her breath caught in her throat, not expecting the compliment. She wasn’t used to such things. Before living with Bram, the word proud had never been uttered in her direction. His statement shouldn’t invoke such a reaction, but Matilda was nearly stunned silent by his words. It meant more than he would ever know.

"Thank you." Her voice came out quieter than she'd intended. "I'm finding it all a lot more manageable. And... with you by my side, I'd almost consider it enjoyable." Color immediately flooded her cheeks. With a chuckle and a groan she rested her forehead on his chest, wishing the words had stayed in her brain.

"Well..." she muttered into his shirt. "That was significantly more honest than I'd planned." After a beat she peeked back up at him, blue eyes sparkling. "You are absolutely not allowed to let that go to your head."

They kept moving with the music, the steps coming with ease as they moved around other couples on the dance floor. Honesty was difficult for Matilda, typically she used humor to deflect. Showing her true feelings made her vulnerable. As soon as their families realized that this relationship went beyond the initial arrangement, they could use those feelings as ammunition.

"I still don't like pretending," she admitted after a moment. Her eyes searched his. "But… I'm not really doing it for my grandparents anymore."

She hesitated. Again with the honesty. Her voice came out tentative, far more timid than was usual. "...I'm doing it because this is our future. I want to be someone who can stand beside you... without feeling like I'm pretending to belong there."

”Not always,” the Slytherin explained, though not without a moment of stunned silence as he realized that his friend, despite being Muggle-born, knew what house-elves were. But did she truly *know*, or had she merely seen them? He didn’t have the courage to ask. ”But generally, Letho handles everything. I think you saw him earlier, serving drinks.” He glanced around; indeed, he hadn’t seen the house-elf for a while, but Letho was likely working incognito to get everything in order, as was his habit. How he managed to do it all alone remained a mystery even to him.

Once on the dance floor, the initial awkwardness faded, and he let himself be swept up by the music and Maevie’s skill. She had mentioned taking a few lessons, but she was actually quite good, in fact, she was decidedly more elegant than he was. He was just about to compliment her on it when disaster struck: a voice rising above the music caught the Hufflepuff off guard, and him by reflex, causing them to stumble and drift dangerously close to another couple. ”Sorry,” he said to the other dancers as he and Maevie steadied both of them, trying to spot the person responsible for making them lose their rhythm. It was a young girl, roughly their age, someone he remembered greeting earlier, though after a while, faces and names all tended to blur together. It was Maevie who made the introductions.

He would have liked to act like a know-it-all with a “Yes, I know her,” but the truth was that the surname rang a sort of alarm bell. Hers was supposed to be a pure-blood family that had fallen from grace due to some scandal, if he remembered correctly, but he certainly couldn't just say that. It was Maevie who saved him at the last moment. ” You did what?! “ Ah, a stickler for the rules when it suited him... though now it made sense how Maevie knew the house-elves. ” You didn't steal anything outside of meal times, did you...? “

” Hang on, let’s move away from here. “ He thought it was best to move so they wouldn't be in the way of the other dancers, adults and students alike, who were moving smoothly across the floor. They narrowly avoided bumping into Dragomir and Matilda, who were deep in conversation and hadn't noticed them. He tried to steer the two girls toward the edge of the room, somewhere they could talk in peace. ” Anyway, she’s right. You’re wearing a lovely dress... well, so is Mae’s, of course... Unlike us guys, who all look like penguins. But explain a bit more... how did you manage to get in? “

All things considered, it was actually a good thing they’d missed their cue; at least it had saved him from having to answer that awkward question about Quidditch... well, for the moment, anyway.

The evening passed pleasantly, with a mix of slower dances suited to older couples and more upbeat, youthful tunes, like the music of the Threestrals or the brand-new Muggle-world hit "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers" which was climbing the charts. There was something for everyone, and it was only right that guests could enjoy themselves, even though they were there for someone else’s birthday. Gareth was amused just watching the others on the dance floor, especially the contrast between his father’s elegant movements and his mother’s wilder, more energetic style; two completely different approaches that, were it not for their arranged marriage, would never have been paired together.

He also spent time chatting about the imminent return to Hogwarts, the summer review work still left to finish, and the "Bad Luck Pool"—a game of predicting the year’s inevitable calamity. The more outrageous the prediction, the better; whoever came closest by the end of the year would win a Honeydukes gift voucher. The parchment passed from hand to hand, with copies also posted on a dedicated noticeboard that was updated in real-time. Some bet on a dragon burning down the Astronomy Tower, others on an invasion of Chocolate Frogs in the Black Lake. Someone even invented a never-before-seen, highly contagious magical disease that would force the school to close. When the parchment finally reached Gareth, the soon-to-be fourth-year wrote his own prophecy, announcing to the world that Quidditch and flying lessons would be cancelled because the school brooms had forgotten how to fly. It was meant to be funny, not deadly; they’d already had quite enough of that.
He then granted a few more dances to those who asked, or to those who felt compelled to ask with an eye toward a potential future arranged marriage between purebloods.

Around eleven o'clock, little more than an hour before the party was due to end, the music abruptly stopped, and all the lights went out. There was a moment of panic, followed by even greater panic when Gareth realized what was about to happen. "Oh no, not this year too" he whispered a silent plea, but his fears materialized when a single beam of light appeared from the sky, growing larger as it drew closer to the ballroom. Magical spirals emanated from the light, encircling it and tracing the shape of a multi-tiered cake in the air; it was likely being transported into the hall under countless illusion or transfiguration spells that dissolved as the cake floated toward a table, which was itself moving into a spot visible to everyone. Soft lights began to glow throughout the room again, just enough to see but without drawing attention away from the cake. It was tall, with colors shifting across its entire surface and endless streams of icing dripping like honey from the edges; each tier boasted a different flavor, ensuring every guest could find something to their liking. Precious gems made of sugar and "every flavor plus one" studded the surface, adding a touch of chaotic surprise. And, of course, there had to be candles. There were fourteen of them, arranged in a spiral across the surface in such a way that no one could possibly blow them all out in a single breath.
But the cake was the innocent part. What was making Gareth turn bright red was the music that had started playing: the classic "Happy Birthday to You", something Gareth wouldn't wish even on his worst enemy. Not that he had one.

The Slytherin approached the table with the gait of a man condemned to death, reluctant to face his fate, yet simultaneously eager for the torture to end. He climbed a small set of steps placed behind the table, allowing him to rise above the crowd and tower over the cake. He gazed out at his guests, barely recognizable in the dim light, and closed his eyes to make a wish for the coming year: no more chaos, murders, or smuggling. Just a quiet year, please. He took a deep breath and blew at the candle atop the cake; his breath magically snaked along the spirals, extinguishing every candle in one go, except for the very top one. Instead, that candle seemed to absorb the flames of all the others before shooting them toward the ceiling, where they exploded like fireworks in a dazzling array of shifting shapes and colors.
After a round of applause for the birthday boy, the cake neatly divided itself into slices, distributing themselves onto plates and tables so everyone could enjoy a piece. Only then did the lights come back on, and Gareth tried to slip away into the crowd with his slice. He could handle the embarrassment, but nothing was going to make him part with his piece of cake. “And that is why I envy anyone whose birthday falls during the Hogwarts term... you don’t have to go through this...” he would later tell his closest confidants.

The party continued for another hour, the time by which the youngest guests were expected to be in bed, and a safer hour for everyone to return to their homes, especially the Muggle-borns among them. Other carriages would arrive to take them back to their hotels or to their parents—safe, sound, well-fed and happy, complete with a little parting gift of wrapped-up cake leftovers and a small magic hourglass that regulated the flow of sand precisely, whether you wanted a one-minute timer or an hour-long one.

It was over.
And, as he thought every single time, no matter how much fun he’d had:
we’ve finally got another party out of the way.

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I decided to do a closure post before the start of the term, but you can keep posting if you so wish, until the mid of september.