The Great Hall had never looked so unrecognisable. Gone were the long house tables. In their place, hundreds of floating glass lanterns hovered above a transformed ballroom, their light caught in the dark polish of the marble floor. Silver and black streamers twisted between the rafters, and at the very centre hung a monstrous chandelier, its crystals glinting like fangs.
It was the Yule Masquerade—an age-old Hogwarts tradition resurrected this year by Headmistress McGonagall as a gesture of unity.
But nothing about the night felt united.
Not the music.
Not the students.
And certainly not the people watching from behind their masks.
Lillian stood at the edge of the hall in layered black silk robes that shimmered like oil when he moved. His mask was a delicate construct of raven feathers, concealing his expression but not the glitter of his amber eyes.
He could feel it.
The Bond.
It pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.
Severus was here.
Somewhere in the room.
Across the Ballroom...
Lucius Malfoy leaned casually against a marble pillar, swirling wine in a goblet he hadn't yet touched. He wore white. Unmarked, untouched, and unreadable.
But he was watching.
Everyone.
Especially Lillian.
And the masked man in the farthest corner.
Dressed in full black, tall, lean, unmoving. Mask like obsidian. Eyes like winter.
Lucius' lips curled.
"Well, well. The dead rise fast these days."
And Then—He Enters.
The music faltered.
A cold wind blew through the hall though no door had opened.
Then came the chill.
Students turned.
The professors froze.
Lord Voldemort stood at the threshold, clad in ceremonial black robes stitched with blood-rune thread. No mask.
He needed none.
The Dark Mark blazed faintly on his pale skin. His lips curled into something far too human.
"Dance," he said, voice like smoke. "Why has no one asked the host to dance?"
Gasps echoed.
McGonagall stood—but didn't speak.
"Where is my Prince?" Voldemort asked softly.
He looked directly at Lillian.
And then beyond him.
To the man in black.
The First Waltz
It was Severus who stepped forward.
Not flinching.
Not bowing.
The mask fell away in a slow, theatrical motion.
His hair was loose. His eyes—obsidian pools of fury and control.
Voldemort opened his arms.
"Severus."
The entire hall held its breath.
But Snape moved past him.
And offered his hand to Lillian.
The room snapped with whispers.
Lillian hesitated.
Then placed his hand in Severus's.
They danced.
Silent.
Perfect.
Spinning like two halves of a storm.
And Voldemort… watched.
Expression unreadable.
Until he said, almost gently—
"You always belonged to me."
As the dance ended, Severus spun Lillian once—twice—and held him far too close.
"He wants me," Severus murmured, lips ghosting over Lillian's ear. "But he doesn't know what I want."
Lillian swallowed. "And what's that?"
Severus smiled.
"Revenge."
He let go.
Lucius Moves In
Lucius reached them just as the crowd resumed its shallow cheer.
He caught Lillian's wrist.
"Careful," he hissed. "You're dancing with death."
Lillian ripped free. "And you'd rather I dance with liars?"
Lucius smirked, teeth flashing.
"You'd be surprised how much a liar can offer in bed."
Voldemort, Unmasked
As the night dwindled, Voldemort moved beside Severus at the edge of the hall.
"You've grown colder, my boy."
Severus didn't blink. "You killed my childhood."
"And gave you power."
"Not enough."
Their gazes locked—ancient magic flickering between them like the charge before lightning.
"Do you fear me, Severus?" Voldemort asked.
Severus leaned in. So close their lips nearly brushed.
"No," he whispered. "I pity you."