The Slytherin common room thrummed with low conversation, not of speculation but of quiet expectation. Everyone already knew why they had been summoned here—Professor McGonagall had mentioned it at dinner or to some during the class, and the prefects had reminded them again before calling the House together. Snape was to speak with them about the upcoming Yule Ball.
The chamber glowed with its usual greenish light, the reflections from the Black Lake rippling faintly across the stone walls. Shadows stretched long and sharp beneath the torchlight, giving the room its familiar chill.
Eira slipped into the gathering with Tracey Davis at her side. The girls shared a look, not of confusion but of mild anticipation—Snape's instructions were never delivered lightly. Around them, students straightened their posture, waiting in near-silence for the arrival of their Head of House.
At the far end, the prefects stood watchful, arms folded, ensuring order was kept. No one dared raise their voice above a whisper. By the time the door creaked open, the room was already subdued, as though the House had instinctively prepared itself for the dean's presence.
And then he arrived.
Professor Snape swept into the room, black robes trailing behind him like a shadow. His gaze flicked over the gathered students, pausing here and there with deliberate disdain, before settling at last upon the prefects. He gave them a slight nod, then turned to address the House.
"As you are all no doubt aware," Snape began in his silken, biting tone, "Hogwarts will soon host a traditional event in conjunction with the Triwizard Tournament — the Yule Ball."
A ripple went through the crowd — suppressed excitement, low whispers, the sound of students straightening as if to look more mature than they were.
Snape's lips curled into something that might have been called a smile, though it carried no warmth. "Now, I am not so indulgent as certain other Heads of House," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I will not lower myself to teaching you how to dance, as Professor McGonagall apparently intends to do for her lions. The very idea…" He let the words hang, gaze sweeping the room with disdain. "Slytherins are expected to conduct themselves with dignity. You should already know the essentials of social decorum. If you do not, then I suggest you remedy that ignorance at once."
Several students shifted uneasily, though most — particularly the pure-bloods — smirked with a sense of superiority. Snape's dark eyes flicked toward a few of the nervous ones, his expression unreadable save for a subtle gleam of derision.
"I will not have members of my House," he continued, voice sharp as a whip, "flailing about the Great Hall like drunken trolls, disgracing centuries of tradition. If you lack competence, the prefects will ensure you acquire it. Consider this your only warning. Any display of idiocy will not be tolerated."
The silence in the common room was absolute. Snape's gaze swept over them one last time, lingering briefly on Eira, then Tracey, then on a few of the older students who looked far too smug. At last, with a swirl of robes, he turned and swept out, leaving the prefects to handle the aftermath.
As soon as the door closed behind him, the tension broke like a dam. Conversations flared up, voices overlapping. Excitement replaced fear, as students speculated in whispers and laughter about dates, gowns, and who might be bold enough to ask whom.
One of the prefects, a tall seventh-year boy, raised his hand for order. "All right," he said firmly. "As the Head of House instructed, those of you who don't know the first thing about dancing will be taught. If you can't dance, step forward now and save yourself humiliation later."
For a moment, there was only hesitation. Then, reluctantly, five or six younger students shuffled forward, faces red. The rest of the House looked on with a mixture of pity and superiority. The prefect gave a curt nod. "We'll set aside evenings to teach you the basics. The rest of you—try not to look too pleased with yourselves."
Eira smirked faintly at Tracey, who leaned in to whisper, "That could have been worse. At least he didn't single anyone out by name."
Eira tilted her head. "True. Do you know how to dance, then? Or will I see you dragged to the front by the prefects tomorrow?"
Tracey scoffed softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Of course I can dance. My mum insisted I learn from the time I was little. Said it was a proper skill for any witch from a respectable family. I hated it at first, but… well, I suppose I've grown to like it."
Eira raised a brow, curious. "You enjoyed it?"
Tracey nodded, her expression softening. "When I was younger, I used to make my dad play wizarding waltzes on the gramophone so I could practice with my mum. She'd laugh every time I tripped over my own feet, but she never let me give up. After a while, it just… stuck. Now, I can't wait to see who asks me."
She gave Eira a sly grin. "What about you? You strike me as someone who can handle a waltz without looking like a fool."
Eira's lips curved in a small smile. "I was taught as well. When I was young, my family hired tutors to teach me properly."
Her voice softened with a trace of amusement. "And at Beauxbâtons, during the first two years, we had a class devoted to etiquette. One of the major parts of it, and perhaps the most demanding, was dancing. Our professor was merciless. Precision, posture, timing, nothing escaped her notice. Under her strict eye, you either learned quickly or endured endless correction."
Eira's smile widened with confidence. "So yes, I suppose I can say I am a true master of it now. Anyone who survived her lessons would be."
"Well," Tracey whispered conspiratorially, "you'll have plenty of opportunity. Imagine the champions! Everyone's going to be watching them. Can you picture Viktor Krum out on the floor? He'll be swarmed with invitations." Her voice dropped even lower. "I'd faint if he asked me."
Eira chuckled under her breath. "Somehow, I don't think he'll have to ask anyone. The girls will be lining up for him."
Tracey pouted playfully. "Spoil my fantasy, why don't you." Then her eyes gleamed again, mischievous. "And what about Potter? Do you think he'll actually manage to ask someone, or will he stumble over his words until the night of the ball?"
Eira considered this with an amused tilt of her head. "That depends. He might surprise us. He has a way of doing that."
Tracey hummed thoughtfully, then sighed. "Still, I think it's all rather exciting. Dresses, music, dancing under the enchanted ceiling… it's like something out of a storybook."
Eira glanced around at their housemates, many of whom were already speculating loudly about gowns, jewelry, and whose family connections might secure the most glamorous partners. She lowered her voice again. "Yes… though for Slytherins, it's never just a dance. Appearances, alliances, impressions — everything will be measured."
Tracey nodded soberly, then smiled again. "All the more reason to shine, right?"
The prefects dismissed the gathering soon after, and the crowd began to break apart into smaller knots of students, chattering eagerly. Some already boasted about partners they intended to ask, others compared robes they hoped to wear. The younger ones who had admitted their lack of skill were quietly led aside for their first impromptu lesson, shuffling nervously as the prefect began correcting their steps.
Eira and Tracey slipped toward the girls' staircase, still whispering as they went.
"So," Tracey teased lightly, "do you already know who you'll say yes to, if asked?"
Eira only smiled mysteriously, adjusting her robe as the emerald firelight flickered across her face. "Perhaps. We'll see."
Tracey gave her a playful nudge, and together they disappeared down the stairs, the low hum of excitement still buzzing in the common room behind them.