HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

"Finished jumping," Ian stopped in front of him, exhaling. "We can slip away now. Shafik has to deal with Nott, he doesn't have time for me. Shall we go?"

Severus looked at him, the light from the dance floor flowing across his profile, his gray eyes sparkling, reflecting the shards of light refracted by ice crystals.

There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and his breathing was slightly more rapid than usual.

The inexplicable feeling of unease I had just felt suddenly dissipated.

"Hmm," Severus replied, stepping out of the shadows.

The two avoided the crowd and walked out along a corridor decorated with ice roses.

The noisy music and laughter were left behind, and the corridor fell silent, with only the sound of their footsteps.

"Not bad," Severus said suddenly, his voice flat.

Ian turned to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips: "I've practiced. My mom said you should at least know a little, so you don't embarrass yourself."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "But dancing with Shafik is no fun. She's mentally counting the beats, afraid of making a mistake."

"You can tell?"

"Her fingers are too tense," Ian said, flexing his wrist. "It's still more comfortable with you."

They walked to a secluded terrace in the castle, where a cold wind immediately rushed in.

"Here you go." Ian took two things wrapped in oil paper from his pocket and handed one over.

It's a still-warm pumpkin pie with a crispy crust and a rich aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin.

Severus took it, took a bite, and found it sweet, soft, and warm—definitely better than what was usually served in the auditorium.

Ian leaned against the stone railing and started eating too.

The two of them silently shared their snacks, gazing into the darkness.

The pie was quickly finished, leaving only a few crumbs on the parchment paper. Ian crumpled the paper in his hand, his gaze fixed on the distance, and suddenly asked, "Can you jump?"

Severus turned his head to the side.

"Dancing," Ian added, his tone casual, as if asking about the weather.

Severus fell silent.

The answer is obvious.

There were no dances in Spider's End, and he never set foot in Slughorn's Slug Club. The only formal dance steps he had ever seen were probably from book illustrations or the swirling figures he had glimpsed from afar tonight.

"No," he finally said, his voice flat.

"I'll teach you."

The words slipped out, and Ian paused for a moment.

But he didn't take it back. Instead, he stuffed the ball of oiled paper he was holding into his pocket, turned around, facing Severus, and raised a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, which was not clearly visible in the dim light.

"Right now, there's no one here."

Severus didn't move, just watched him. The wind ruffled a few strands of hair on Ian's forehead, and his grey eyes reflected the sparse light shining through the castle windows—very bright.

"There's no music," Severus said calmly.

"What kind of music do you want?" Ian took a small step forward, entering the space in front of Severus. It wasn't close, but it had already broken the usual distance.

He raised his left hand, palm up, in an inviting gesture, very standard, even with a touch of the deliberate elegance he had just practiced on the dance floor.

"Just count the beats, it's very simple, just follow me."

Severus's gaze fell on his outstretched palm, then returned to his face.

Ian's expression was serious; there was no joking or reluctance on his part. He was simply waiting.

A few seconds, or perhaps longer, Severus crumpled the oil paper in his hand into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

Then, he placed his slightly cold hand into Ian's palm.

"Put your hand here." Ian guided his right hand to his waist, while he himself grasped Severus's left hand and lifted it up.

The distance suddenly closed, and a familiar scent enveloped him.

"I'll do the women's step," Ian said, already taking half a step. "Just follow me, it'll be slow, one, two, three..."

Severus followed, his steps unsteady, and he almost stepped on Ian's foot.

"It's alright," Ian reassured him. "Slow down, try again. One, two, three..."

The second time was better; at least I landed on the beat, but my body was still tense.

Ian's hand on his shoulder gently guided him to turn and shift.

Severus seemed to have all his attention focused on his feet, his head down, staring at the patch of ground between their shoes, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Look up, Severus," Ian's voice was close, his breath almost brushing against his hair, "look at me, not the ground."

Severus looked up as instructed, meeting Ian's gaze, which was almost touching.

Now that I'm closer, I can see the curve of his eyelashes and the uneasy reflection of myself in his eyes.

Ian was smiling, a faint but genuine smile, unlike the one he had on the dance floor earlier.

"Much better," Ian said, leading him through another turn. This time Severus kept up, though his steps were still hesitant, but at least he didn't make any more mistakes.

"A waltz is just going around in circles," Ian continued, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, "and as you go around and around, you forget where you are."

They moved slowly on this small, cold terrace.

There was no music, only Ian's low counting and the whistling of the wind blowing through the castle walls.

Faint music drifted from the distant auditorium, broken and intermittent by the wind, as if from another world.

Severus gradually relaxed a little, at least he stopped looking down at his feet.

He could still feel the warmth of Ian's palm, the steady presence of the hand at his waist, and the subtle sounds of fabric rubbing together and the warmth of his body as they moved closer.

"You dance quite well," Severus said suddenly, his gaze falling on Ian's shoulder.

“I’ve practiced a few times,” Ian admitted. “My mom taught me. She said it might come in handy someday.” He paused, then added, “But this is the first time since I learned it.”

Severus paused slightly. "...You don't have to."

"I want to try," Ian said, turning him around again. This time, Severus instinctively cooperated, his steps much smoother. "And you learn quickly."

It wasn't exactly a compliment, but Severus pursed his lips, didn't reply, and simply continued the silent and awkward dance, guided by Ian.

The night wind was cold and stung my face, but our palms were warm to the touch, and the warmth emanated from our close bodies through our clothes.

The world shrinks to just this terrace and the person in front of me.

After spinning around for what seemed like the hundredth time, Ian stopped.

The counting stopped too.

They stood face to face, their hands still clasped and gently supporting each other, very close, their breaths condensing into white mist in the cold air, briefly mingling.

"You've got it?" Ian asked, without letting go.

"Probably," Severus replied, without moving.

A burst of laughter and applause came from the auditorium in the distance, probably because a dance had ended.

The bustling atmosphere made the place seem even more quiet.

Ian's fingers curled slightly in his palm, then slowly relaxed, and his other hand moved off Severus's shoulder.

Severus's hand fell back to his side, his fingertips still retaining a trace of the other's warmth.

"Let's go back," he said.