The mirror in the fourth-year boys’ dormitory reflected a person Kieran scarcely recognised as himself. The dark formal robes of heavy silk fitted impeccably, emphasising the breadth of his shoulders, while on his chest gleamed the dull silver of the embroidered crest — a raven clutching a dagger in its talons.
Kieran raised his arms behind his head and drew his hair into a tight, high knot. It was a small jab at his father, his grandfather, and the whole of British wizarding aristocracy combined. At Mahoutokoro such a style signified focus and readiness for action. Here, amid starched collars and lace cuffs, it looked like a declaration: I am here, but I am not one of you.
He gave his reflection a wry huff. The houses of Morgan and Greengrass had settled everything for him, turning a Christmas evening into a political chess match. Kieran had no doubt Daphne was equally furious — no Slytherin beauty would relish being reduced to a minor piece in a larger game. Yet the rules of decorum in their circles were a leash that tightened the harder one tried to break free.
What troubled him most was Hermione. Over the past day his friend had become a ghost — glimpsed at the end of a corridor, vanishing behind library shelves, disappearing into crowds before he could call her name. She was clearly avoiding him after Daphne’s ridiculous performance in the corridor. Kieran felt a strange, sticky guilt. He ought to have said something then. But what? Apologise for his family keeping the wrong company?
‘No way out,’ he murmured into the empty room.
If he failed to appear at the dungeon entrance on time, Greengrass would flay his soul worse than any Dementor. The intolerable Daphne had a way of settling scores that had taught Kieran from childhood never to push her too far. Just in case.
He descended and made his way towards the dungeons. At the entrance, surrounded by torches whose light danced on the icy decorations along the walls, she stood waiting.
Daphne looked enchanting. Even for her this was a new level: the gown of cold silver clung to her like a second skin, transforming Greengrass into a beautiful statue carved from moonlight. She spotted Kieran from afar and stilled, hands folded at her waist.
When he reached her, Daphne gave a thin smile. She stepped forward, closing the distance, and subjected his robes to a critical inspection. Her fingers — cold and assured — brushed his collar, smoothing an invisible crease, then trailed lightly along his cheekbone and neck.
‘Not bad, Kieran,’ she said, smiling. This time there was none of the icy armour she wore for the rest of the school. It was an ironic smirk — the same one they had shared as children in their family manors, when the adults locked themselves in studies and they hid from the nannies. ‘You’ve actually made an effort. Very well, I’ll take you. Only mind you don’t tread on my hem — if you ruin this gown I shall have you in servitude till the end of the year.’
Kieran didn’t even attempt to retort. He silently offered his bent arm, and Daphne, with graceful inclination of her head, accepted.
The scent of her perfume — sharp, with notes of winter forest and something costly — enveloped him in a dense cloud. They moved towards the Great Hall, merging with the noisy stream of couples.
‘You know,’ Daphne remarked quietly as they passed suits of armour decked with mistletoe, ‘you might have been Sorted into Slytherin. It would have spared us a great many difficulties. We could have seen more of each other… and you wouldn’t have to disgrace my standing with that lion House.’
Kieran cast her a sidelong glance.
‘If you’d wanted to spend time with me so badly, Daphne, you wouldn’t consider it beneath your dignity to take a simple walk round the inner courtyard with a Gryffindor. Is it the colour of my tie that frightens you, or Parkinson’s opinion?’
Daphne gave a soft, melodic laugh. The sound was startlingly alive amid the starched atmosphere of the evening.
They reached the doors of the Great Hall. The decorations were breathtaking: walls coated in glittering frost, hundreds of ice sculptures, floating candles shaped like snowflakes. The hall breathed cold and opulence.
Couples were everywhere; hundreds of eyes watched each arrival, appraising robes, jewellery, and the status of companions. Kieran felt the muscles of his back tense involuntarily, and Daphne’s hand on his elbow grew a fraction heavier.
They stepped inside beneath the glow of magical lights. For an instant Kieran felt not as though he were entering a ball, but a battlefield. Only here the weapons were smiles, and the curses were whispers behind one’s back.
Well then, he thought, straightening his spine and catching a critical stare from the corner where older Slytherins stood. I’m no stranger to battles.