The Fall of Dumbledore: The White King

A Yule Invitation

As the buzz surrounding the impending Yule Ball reached a fevered crescendo, Draco found himself utterly consumed with thoughts of attending as Hades' escort. The notion had become an outright obsession, infiltrating his every waking moment like a possessive spirit.

He couldn't resist shooting lingering looks towards the solitary figure of his dark prince secluded in that dimly lit corner of the common room. Even the simple act of turning ancient vellum pages seemed imbued with an otherworldly, ritualistic grace in Hades' hands. Each minute shift of muscle under alabaster skin sang like a siren's call to the blond Slytherin's thundering heart.

It was maddening how easily the raven-haired scion could dismantle Draco's every certainty and conviction with but a glance of those fathomless emerald pools. He moved through the world untouchable and aloof, an apex predator skirting amongst scurrying prey deaf to his magnificence. And Draco positively ached to be allowed at this imperious, beautiful creature's side.

"Dray? You're staring again," Pansy sighed in exasperation, giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

The blond started, shaken from his reverie. "I was not," he muttered unconvincingly, steadfastly avoiding his friend's shrewd gaze.

"For Merlin's sake, why don't you just ask him already?" she hissed under her breath. Even Pansy wasn't immune to the heart-stopping charge radiating from Hades these days. If anything, it had made her all the more deferential in his presence.

Draco opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, jaw tensing. Summoning every iota of his pureblood aristocratic chutzpah, he rose smoothly to his feet and crossed the short distance to Hades' secluded corner.

Up close, the young master's dark charisma took on an almost blinding intensity. He looked up as Draco neared, those striking emerald eyes glittering like Killing Curses through his shag of raven hair. Hundreds of scathing dismissals ran scenarios through the blond's mind, each as withering as the last. Draco nearly faltered, conviction slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

But then Hades spoke first, voice low and rich as the finest elf-mead. "Something troubles you, dragon?"

The pet name alone was enough to nearly buckle Draco's knees. It sounded like the most sublime benediction falling from those exquisite lips. Somehow, he rallied the nerve to meet that piercing gaze levelly.

"I wished to request the honor of escorting you to the Yule Ball," he managed in a surprisingly steady tone.

One slanted eyebrow arched infinitesimally upward. "My intentions have been made quite clear. Such fleeting indulgences hold no interest for me."

"I understand," Draco replied carefully. "However, it remains the grandest social event hosted by Hogwarts. Surely someone of your station must, at the very least, put in an appearance?"

A muscle worked in Hades' chiseled jawline, his unsettling eyes narrowing slightly in thought. Or was it irritation? Draco couldn't discern for sure.

Then, "Very well, Dray. If you insist on my making a brief showing at this spectacle, so be it. You may escort me."

Heart pounding wildly in his chest, Draco licked his dry lips, pulse roaring in his ears. This was it - his one chance, likely his only chance. There could be no more cowardice, no half-measures when destiny itself hung in the balance.

Hades regarded him levelly, expression utterly inscrutable. For several agonizing seconds, the silence stretched out like taffy until Draco feared he might swoon from the suspense.

"I trust your decorum will be above reproach?" the dark prince intoned at last.

Draco nodded furiously, afraid to so much as speak now lest he shatter the tremulous spell. Merlin's beard, he was going to escort Hades to the Yule Ball! The dark young master of his deepest reveries and forbidden desires.

With an indulgent nod, Hades turned back to his arcane tome, and the interview concluded. Still, Draco could barely take two stumbling steps backward before needing to blindly collapse into a nearby armchair. His entire body trembled with electric release, lungs gulping air in shallow pants. Around him, the dimly lit common room swam and shifted in a dizzying blur of impressions and aftershocks.

He did it.

Sweet Salazar Slytherin, he'd done the impossible!

As the initial disbelief slowly melted into glorious realization, a fey, giddy smile curled Draco's lips...