The Fall of Dumbledore: The White King

A Dark Waltz

The night of the Yule Ball finally arrived, and the Great Hall had been utterly transformed into a dazzling winter wonderland. Towering pines glittered with crystalline baubles, their boughs frozen in delicate ice filigree. Thousands of enchanted candles hovered above, their flickering light refracting through the sparkling chandelier crystals to cast a warm, ethereal glow. At the center, a frozen lake served as the grand dance floor, misted tendrils of chill fog wafting lazily across its mirrored surface.

As the massive oak doors swung open to admit the arriving couples, a buzzing hush descended. Every eye turned in awed anticipation towards the staircase. And then, like a tightening knot in Draco's chest, the thunder of hundreds of pounding heartbeats reached a crescendo as Hades descended the steps.

The dark prince cut a smoldering figure in flawless dress robes of the deepest onyx, tailored to his lithe, athletic form like a second skin. Subtle embroidered accents of darkest emerald and silver thread shimmered with his every fluid movement. From the sharp angles of those chiseled aristocratic features to the shining raven's wing of his hair swept back to expose the taut column of his throat, he was the ultimate distillation of masculine power and regal menace.

On Draco's trembling arm, possessively grasping the crook of the blond's elbow.

The young Malfoy felt lightheaded yet exquisitely resolute as a pathway instinctively cleared before them amidst the awestruck crush of the crowd. He drew in a steadying breath, spine straight and chin lifted in pride. This was their moment. A shared declaration of ascendance before the entire bedazzled Wizarding elite.

Let them gape in stupefied wonder at the ineffable majesty on his arm. For tonight Draco basked in the reflected radiance of perfection incarnate, like a phoenix reveling in the first rays of a newborn sun. At long last, he would reveal the staggering truth of his awakening to those still wallowing in darkness.

With great fanfare, the orchestra struck up the opening strains of an elegant waltz, and Draco pivoted to face his Hades. Mesmerizing green eyes locked onto his with the weight of a cosmic event horizon as he bowed deeply at the waist. "May I have this dance, my lord?"

Long, elegant fingers slid into his outstretched palm, electrifying every nerve with that simple gesture of allowance. "You may, dragon," came the permission like a benediction whispered on the edge of annihilation itself.

Straightening, Draco drew Hades' other hand and brought their bodies flush together. Every molecule in his being felt galvanized by the crackling energy coursing between them. He gazed up into that aristocratic visage, finely chiseled lips just a scant breath away, and knew himself forever transformed.

Then they were turning in unison to the stately rhythm as one flesh, gliding across that crystalline floor in perfect syncopation. All around, lesser mortals fell away into insignificance as the two young lords of the ancient Earth spun their hypnotic revolutions. Draco instinctively led the steps, yet Hades remained the irresistible center of his orbit, pulling at him with his cosmic gravitas.

On and on the timeless dance played out, the pair of them radiating darkly incandescent power and intensity. Every point where their bodies pressed and aligned sizzled with sublime friction. Draco knew himself utterly remade in these endless moments burning in Hades' charismatic penumbra. A glorious rebirth of flesh and spirit consummated with every turn across that infinite frozen plane.

They were twin pillars of black majesty, indomitable kings carving their sigil of dominance into the ether. Their black waltz would be invoked in whispered awe for generations, an unparalleled legacy of shadowed elegance forever seared into the collective unconscious of magical society. He would ensure it.