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Nantale Biira was not a strong believer in Yule balls.
She preferred the open, accidental-magic-prone, rhythm-rich celebrations they held in Uagadou at every excuse for an occasion. The sort where students ended up throwing each others’ Animagus forms into the air like live fireworks. But the International Exchange Programme offering a semestre at Hogwarts University had been too exciting to pass up, even if it meant resigning herself to six months of boring British parties.
Smoothing her lavender headscarf for the eighteenth time since stepping into the Forbidden Forest-befogged pavilion, Nantale craned her neck towards the Centaur’s Beverage Bar where Achilles had gone “to refresh himself.” Apparently, refreshing himself involved leaning against the bar, arms crossed to show off the fairy dust glittering over his veins. He was chatting with minimal gestures (the fairy dust was prone to clinging to whatever he touched, including door handles, clothes, and a stray dog he pet on the way) to Anastasia Rosier, Nantale’s Experimental Potions classmate whom he avoided like monkshood in conversation. Except tonight, Annie’s kneazle costume—were they even native to the Forbidden Forest? Nantale hadn’t thought to ask—had no hood and was nothing like what a monk might wear.
Three.
“Idiots, right?” Lilli snickered when Nantale shrugged. “I would’ve taken you as my date,” she continued, squeaking when an enchanted Acromantula leapt at them from the ceiling. “But, erm …”
A Bombarda Maxima which left oversized arachnid legs hanging in the pavilion’s twisted branch roof announced Theodore Nott’s arriva, and Nantale’s cue to leave. It wasn’t that she disliked him—It was that she found drool distasteful, and the puppy eyes he made at Lilli whenever she stood within four miles of him felt intrusive to witness.
“Don’t leave, Tale,” Lilli pleaded, tugging on Nantale’s Mooncalf-grey robes. “Theo apologised for the Veritaserum incident, and even took a Vow—”
Ah, yes. The other reason Nantale preferred to avoid Theo. It wasn’t entirely his fault, she supposed, but a warning about the Truth part of the “Truth or Dare” game he’d proposed as an icebreaker with the other exchange students had been … Unexpected. Nantale had obliviated herself immediately afterwards.
“Achilles is waiting for me, anyway,” she said instead. They both knew it was a lie. He and Annie were gone, a single shimmering kneazle hair left floating in the air to prove their short-lived attendance. Theodore dragged his date away towards the Hug-A-Hippogriff stand, his eyes renewing his apology while Lilli muttered about her stupid “hot radar ring.”
Two.
Hovering below the trellis of haunted limbs now ornamented with more exploded Acromantulas, a blonde witch was stitching the beasts back together as she teetered on the top rung of a rosevine ladder Theo’s friend Zabini held steady. Slytherins, they called themselves. Nantale had missed the Sorting Ceremony due to Portkey complications, but as far as she observed, the houses seemed assigned rather randomly. Still, these witches and wizards took great pride in their bicoloured standards and jumpers, jealously guarding the entrance to their towers and dungeons.
Nantale, along with the rest of the unsorted exchange students, lodged in a renovated set of rooms in the east wing. Beyond the mists and shadowy Thestrals acting as the pavilion’s walls, her Pearl Dust lamp shone petal-blue against the dark castle’s stone, just below a light blue diamond. Anzhela Gruzdev didn’t understand why she left her lamp burning during her evening strolls. She thought it a waste of magic.
“Dance, drink, or discuss?” A familiar voice said to her left. The one belonging to Viktor Krum, a Bulgarian exchange wizard whose bedroom she recently learned was right above hers—who also left a lamp on whenever he planned to be back after sundown, so the icy glow illuminated the mists which often gathered around the castle. Not that she noticed or waited for it to turn off every night.
“Discuss,” Nantale said. His English had improved recently, but he always asked the same question when he found her alone at a social event. Which he always did.
“Good.” Viktor smiled, ushering her deeper into the Forbidden Forest, past a marsh of Dugbogs to the low-lit UniCorner. “I go first. Why did you come with Fontan?”
“Achilles? Oh, I don’t know …” Nantale pursed her lips, rubbed the hem of her scarf between her fingers. “I heard you were going with Hermione Granger.”
“Three years ago.”
“Strange how much can happen in three years.”
“Or three months.”
She nodded slowly, as though considering it for the first time. “He was too afraid to ask the witch he wanted. And I was tired of waiting, so we agreed to just come together.”
“And leave separate?” Curiosity made his accent more pronounced.
Nantale shrugged. “He got thirsty and I haven’t seen him since.”
Viktor offered a hand. “Drink, then?”
The shake of her head was firm, even as she reached to take his hand. “Dance.”
His dark eyes cut through fogs as thick as the suspiciously-inhabited marsh. They flickered away, once, to where their twin lights spoke of security. Of home.
"Happy Yule!" Lilli shouted when midnight struck, but Nantale never remembered hearing it after. The night she remembered was one of quick, close steps, warm eyes captivating hers, and fingers more intertwined than apart.
One.