The Great Hall was a wonder.
Every corner shimmered with floating jack-o'-lanterns, their carved faces flickering merrily with candlelight. Bats swooped through the rafters in organized loops, as if rehearsing a dance. The ceiling reflected the moody sky above, a cloudy night touched by hints of moonlight and mystery. And the feast — oh, the feast — seemed to stretch endlessly down the tables: roasted pumpkin, treacle tart, toffee apples, cauldron cakes, and pies of every flavor imaginable.
Iris Potter leaned on one elbow at the Hufflepuff table, her plate already half-cleared, her fingers picking lazily at a biscuit while her eyes did what they'd done most of the night — watch the people around her.
Specifically, two people.
Hadrian and Dora sat across from each other — as usual — chatting casually with their housemates, laughing at jokes, passing plates without needing to ask. It was all so normal. So easy. But Iris had learned to look closer.
Hadrian passed Dora the butter — but instead of just placing it by her hand, he waited until she looked up and gave him a soft smile, one that lingered a second too long. Dora's hair rippled into a warm autumnal orange — and Iris knew that wasn't a coincidence.
She watched as Dora teased him about stuffing his mouth too full — and how Hadrian only grinned through the mess, but didn't stop, like he enjoyed making her laugh more than he cared about his dignity.
Then, there was that glance.
They both reached for the same pasty. Their hands stopped, fingers just barely brushing. Dora drew back, cheeks faintly pink. Hadrian looked up, gave her a lopsided smile, and let her take the pasty. Their eyes met for barely a moment. Nothing was said. But it was there.
That look.
Iris bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide.
She liked watching people. Always had. She'd gotten good at reading them — better than most realized. And even if Dora and Hadrian didn't know what they were feeling yet… Iris was pretty sure she did.
It wasn't anything dramatic. No grand gestures or awkward declarations. Just… the way they noticed each other more. Spoke a little softer. Laughed a little brighter when the other was near. The way Dora's hair color danced in warmer tones when Hadrian was around. The way Hadrian's smile always reached his eyes when he talked to her.
It was subtle. Sweet.
And honestly? It was adorable.
She popped a piece of treacle tart into her mouth and leaned back with a little sigh. She wasn't jealous — not even a bit. It made her feel warm, really. Safe. Like everything around her was going exactly the way it was meant to.
After all, she had both of them. Dora was like the big sister she never expected but couldn't live without, and Hadrian…
Well, Hadrian was hers, too.
Her twin. Her anchor. Her safe place.
So if the two most important people in her life were quietly starting to fall for each other?
That just meant her world was becoming even better.
She looked up and caught Dora sneaking another glance at Hadrian when she thought no one was looking. Then she looked at Hadrian — and found him doing the exact same thing.
Iris snorted softly into her pumpkin juice.
Yep. She was definitely going to start keeping score.