firecracker ???

The first snow of December had settled like lace over the castle grounds, dusting the stone steps and blanketing the lawns in a hush that muffled every footfall. Hogsmeade stretched just beyond the rise—visible only in glimpses for now—and the excitement among the third-years was so palpable it might have steamed the glass in the Entrance Hall.

Lyra stood near the front of the line, one gloved hand tucked into the curve of Theo's arm, their steps already aligned, their pace natural. He was quiet beside her, shoulders relaxed, the corner of his mouth tugging up as Pansy launched into yet another complaint about how long McGonagall was taking and how many students would probably buy all the best sweets before they even got there.

Daphne murmured a reply too low for Lyra to catch. She didn't interrupt. She was watching the gates.

It wasn't nerves. It never was. It was just habit—taking in the scene, cataloguing movements, and registering details others missed. She didn't fidget. She didn't chatter. She stood with the same careful ease she always did, as though stillness itself were an extension of power.

"You look like you're preparing for a duel," Theo said softly, voice dry with amusement.

"I'm preparing for a crowd."

"You say that like it's worse."

She arched an eyebrow but didn't look over. "Have you ever tried walking through a sweets shop full of unsupervised children?"

Theo exhaled a low laugh. "Point taken."

Ahead, the gates creaked open again, and another group was waved through. McGonagall stood, stiff and unmoved, scarf tightly fastened at her throat as she read over permission slips with surgical precision.

"They say there's a pub with floating candles," Theo continued under his breath, eyes flicking past the gates as the village slowly revealed itself in pieces—rooftops, crooked chimneys, a weathervane in the shape of a serpent.

"And a post office with over two hundred owls," Lyra replied.

He tilted his head toward her. "Looking forward to it?"

She hesitated, just for a moment. "It's... smaller than I expected."

Draco, a few steps ahead with Blaise, turned just enough to catch her words. "It's not Versailles," he called back smugly. "It's a village."

Lyra narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "Thank you for the clarification."

Theo hid his grin behind a tug at his glove.

McGonagall's voice cut across the crowd like a blade. "Malfoy. Black. Nott. Parkinson. Greengrass. Zabini. Crabbe. Goyle. Proceed."

The gates swung open with a groan that echoed over the snow. As they stepped beyond the castle boundary, the wind met them like a greeting—cool and crisp, stirring the ends of their cloaks. Hogsmeade unfolded with each step forward: uneven roofs, curling chimneys, the shimmer of golden windowpanes behind falling snow.

"It's older than I thought," Theo observed.

"It smells sweet," Daphne said, nose tilted toward the wind.

"It smells like sugar and regret," Pansy replied. "We're going to Honeydukes first. If I don't get rose-glazed fudge, I'll hex the air."

"Always a measured response," Theo said.

Honeydukes, as expected, was packed.

The rush of warm, sugar-saturated air upon opening the door was enough to steal a breath, and Lyra eased through the crowd with an instinctive grace, weaving around clumsy elbows and forgotten satchels without so much as brushing her sleeves. Theo remained beside her, his hand guiding gently at the small of her back, not possessive, but protective, a gesture that had never required words.