Students packed the long house tables, voices crashing into each other from every direction. The enchanted ceiling stretched overhead, dark and full of stars, but no one was looking at it.

Near the staff table, the Goblet of Fire burned. Its blue flames licked upward, casting strange shadows across the stone floor. Students old enough to enter had been drifting toward it all evening.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was holding court.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted. A small, almost private smile. The boys beside him burst into laughter.

Viktor's eyes wandered across the Hall. Past the Hufflepuffs, past the Ravenclaws. They settled on the Gryffindor table.

On Y/n.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

For a long moment, he simply watched. His dark eyes were steady, focused, like he was trying to work something out and wasn't in any particular hurry.

The boy beside him — the one with the shaved head — said something else. Viktor turned back, blinking. His reply was distracted, a few low words in Bulgarian. But a minute later, his gaze drifted across the Hall again.

Dinner was winding down. Plates were emptying. Students were starting to gather their bags, push back benches, shout last-minute plans across tables.

Viktor rose from his seat. He said something brief to the Durmstrang students beside him. One of them raised an eyebrow, but Viktor was already moving.

He crossed the Hall in long, purposeful strides, weaving between tables and clusters of students. His fur-trimmed uniform stood out against the sea of black Hogwarts robes.

He stopped at the end of the Gryffindor table.

For a second, he just stood there, looking down at Y/n. The noise of the Hall seemed to roll off him.

A beat of silence.