The party was everything Neely’s father had promised. There was, apparently, reward in patience. Neely was pretty sure she had competed in the Wizarding Olympic event for patience and walked away with gold; her real birthday had fallen on the eve of a week’s worth of exams. Knowing this, Ollis Woolfolk had made up for it by throwing a Sweet Sixteen that would have spanned a double time slot on muggle television, only it wasn’t tacky or nouveau riche, not suburban enough to warrant commercial sponsors.

The party room, with its crown molding, subtle silks, and antique floors, had been swathed in pale pinks and delicate, faded golds. A long banquet held as much as food as any party guest could hope to balance on a plate, and most of the space was cleared away for dancing and mingling. Near one end of the table was a tiered collection of punch bowls shaped like so many hatboxes and brimming with lily pads and fresh sliced fruit. Trays floated about at people’s elbows, carrying champagne flutes of juice, mint-leaf-embellished frozen hot cocoa... and a little alcohol here and there, along with oeur d'oeuvres. But the elegant affair was anything but boring. It struck the perfect balance between Mature Young Adults With Money, and Party Like a Slytherin: A low, sitting, handsome wooden stage had been erected at one end of the magically-enhanced room, and a hip wizarding band was halfway through a new radio hit. The spotlights that danced over the purposely-dimmed stage were  at turns glittery and like stained glass.

Neely stood off to the side of the stage, with a gaggle of girls whom she’d known since first year. The band’s singer danced with nimble passion in their direction, all skinny black pants and nearly snogging the microphone under a thick fringe. Neely bunched her cheeks, grinning contently with her arm laced round a vaguely-panicked friend’s waist, and swayed into the mini mob to the whine of the lead guitar.

As she turned to face and whisper loudly to other girls, her eyes landed on the wall near the entryway, but it was neither the immaculate decor, nor the table stuffed with pastel biscuits that caught her attention. Between the high, open entry and another company of guests stood a person whose curls rivaled any number of captivating, eligible-or-otherwise bachelors in Neely’s magazines. She smiled, catching his eye, and deciphered, despite the music, that he meant for her to join him.

She obliged, slipping away from the throng of girls. She plucked two glasses from a tray that happened by, and approached him, grin widening momentarily as she came to a stop in front of him. She held out one drink toward his chest. Where in childhood there had only been a few inches between them, Neely was now used to glancing upward. She looked past the smart tailoring and gifted mouth to settle on his eyes. “You should be dancing,” she declared. “In the front.” Her eyes went a little wide, emphasizing her intentions for him. She looked over her shoulder, to where the hoard was still steadfastly bobbing in front of the stage. She paid a few second’s extra mind to a particularly rhythm-less Ravenclaw. When she looked back, it was with a certain judgement shared with her closer friends. Judging one’s own party guests could be touchy, but, well, she was dancing like that.

“Do you want some cake?” She asked, perhaps a little more serious (though she still fully intended to resume dancing again). “Before it’s served...” Clarification. Neely bit her a lip a little, still grinning. It was her birthday.

His fingers curled around hers as he accepted the glass, and used the contact to gently reel her in. It was—as most things were—remarkably easy for him. “In a moment,” he answered quietly, pushing off the wall as a soft, indulgent grin flirted along the edge of his mouth. The pleasure behind it – at the offer, at the appearance of her – was genuine if not overt, and only warmed even more as lips took on a wry twist, revealing a flash of teeth. “I wanted to speak with you, actually.”

Fully upright, Theo had to take a step back to take a good look at her—but when he did, he was pleased with what he saw. Swathed in a deep, rich shade of purple and blonde hair cut fashionably short, Neely Woolfolk was, in Theo’s extremely discriminating opinion, every inch the princess so many of her peers desired – or thought themselves – to be; as it rustled with movement, the cut of her dress whispered girlishly of quality, and somehow the new length of her hair lent its owner an air of maturity even as it accentuated innocence –which suited her, he thought approvingly. Thaddeus Whitman’s childhood friend wasn’t a pauper (or worse, gauche), after all.

Even better, she wasn’t like a certain cousin, who tended to carry on in an entirely ridiculous manner. Some people, he also thought, should leave the coy act to those were better suited for it.

“We-” was softly, playfully emphasized, almost a purr in the girl’s ear, “-can dance later.” With a light, expert tug, Theo drew Neely into a twirl as he led her towards the entryway, ever mindful of how drinks and dresses made a terrible combination. Blue eyes gleamed appreciatively at how elegantly hers had flared. “Your friends can stand to languish in your absence for a bit, can’t they?” he asked, that grin he glanced at her dazzlingly teasing, and their footsteps pattered lightly into the empty hall. “I have something to show you…”

And then he was drawing her into an empty parlour, a soft click echoing throughout the room as he let door quietly shut behind them. Ahead of them, a balcony glowed white beyond a pair of arched glass doors. “It’s outside,” Theo murmured, finally letting go of her hand, and he stepped out into the open air.

What had been initially barred from sight by white frame, now visibly sat on the alabaster surface of the balcony railing—a small, circular box wrapped in striped, gold paper and topped off by a champagne-colored ribbon. Smiling faintly – and with no small amount of satisfaction – Theo let the slim length of his wand slide into his palm, and tapped its tip against the heart of the bow. Gracefully the ribbon untied itself, until…

He was turning around, a finely wrought tiara resting delicately in his hands.

“It seemed only fitting,” he said, beaming a radiant smile as curls glowed gold under the moonlight, “and about time. Shall I?”

   

Being pulled in by Theo was rather like dancing. There was an elegant, hypnotizing quality about his movements and his face at least when he wanted there to be. With the anticipation of what he had to say, Neely grinned wider, vaguely innocent but still remarkably Slytherinesque, an impish excitement upon her lips. “About what? Can I guess?” Neely was very good at guessing-- guessing, spying, knowing things she wasn’t supposed to know about any number of people. But Theo wasn’t easy gossip, not someone she would gather schoolyard intelligence on to use against him later. The sort of guessing one did around Theo was... heady, slightly dangerous.

Neely’s palm was cool from the slender stemware, the back of her hand warm from Theo’s fingers. Something to show her. Neely’s eyes went a little brighter, a remarkable feat for such a large, dollish gaze. Her lips were no longer just a smile, but parted with an invisible quiver of surprise, the sort of anticipation at which one could not merely smile. Her eyes flitted from the corner of his shirt, where they were fixed as he spoke closely to her ear, back to his face after he voiced the words. Theo’s mouth was a sort of magic that made Charms lessons seem drab. (And if they were, anyway, sometimes, it was still true.)

She was not too disappointed that he didn’t want to dance now. 

“I think they can.” She grinned with an agreeable confidence. But then the smile dissolved, she lifted her chin a little, looked slightly haughty as she continued, but in the friendly way that said she was talking about other people, not patronizing Theo. “But Euradice from fifth year is completely lost without me.” The poor, poor girl. Neely’s reproachful starlet look quite obviously doubled as a pout of pity, until it became a playful smile again (which it did so quickly). She was only joking. Mostly. Euradice was hopeless, but they would all survive without her. That’s what the macarons were for. Young people had so much to learn.

Whatever they were going to get up to, it would be better than dancing, certainly at least on par with an early sample of cake. That certain brand of cunning that belonged to Slytherin was almost visible. And yet, Theo Whitman moved effortlessly, had all the virtuousness of a cathedral mural. In the church of Salazar Slytherin.

Whisked from the party hall, Neely looked over her shoulder only once, smiling as she turned back to face the corridor, reveling in their quite escape. Neely loved parties, especially parties thrown in her name-- but she also loved little adventures like these, sneaky and exclusive as any girl could hope to have. She, too, managed to hide deviousness from prying eyes, pristine in a purple birthday dress. She held with sweet-tempered firmness to his hand until they were in a private room, a very old (but refurbished and cleanly painted) door between them and the rest of the house. Neely paused, the anticipation now far exceeding the wait for a September issue. She turned her head toward him, cheek near-parallel with a shoulder half-swathed, half-bared by the sleeveless purple dress. Her eyes were full of said anticipation, and questioning. She stared at Theo for only a moment before continuing on toward the balcony. Steady, regal, a soft click of heels that did not echo loudly; she had learned how to be quiet in such shoes.

Her heart beat faster when her eyes found the box; she was hardly across the threshold. It was round, as opposed to square: a good sign, and good taste. The gold and champagne hues of the presentation were lovely, something Neely would have chosen herself.

She watched as it unwrapped itself, her eyes darting Theo’s hands when he turned.

Neely drew in a breath. Engaging as Theo’s face was, she had eyes only for what sat in his hands.

It was... exactly what Neely Woolfolk wanted.

And she hadn’t even known that it was, not entirely, not quite-- had not asked for it. Theo Whitman was like the Mirror of Erised in human form.

A tiara.

She reached out, gentle, manicured fingers grazing the air a quarter inch from the painstakingly wrought headpiece. She touched it, just barely, and then more properly. Ten subtly pink, pearl-sheen nails displayed the willpower of an Unspeakable by resisting the urge to grab. Theo had chosen it especially for her. Neely would live up to the image of princess.

She managed to tear her gaze away, by some miracle.

She looked up at him, a smile blooming on her own lips now. She nodded, a succession of quick, small nods. “Yes,” she said, the excitement obvious in her voice, a childish chirp, whatever her efforts to sound courtly and mature.

If Theo could say a thousand things with his eyes, Neely could, too, in her own way. That moment, they were full of surprise, exhilaration, an overwhelmingness, and a very small but certainly not unnoticeable kind of hunger that ambitious people possessed.

Neely could not help thinking that no one else at Hogwarts would be crowned that summer.

She waited until it touched her head.

And then she flung herself at him. Small arms tangled around Theo’s neck, and Neely squeezed him only long enough to convey her gratitude before she slipped one arm back, tilted an elbow and just barely stopped herself from securing the tiara. Steadying herself, she let down her arm slowly, and smiled up Theo. Cornelia Woolfolk had balance. “I love it.” She kissed his cheek and pulled back her other arm, returning both heels to the ground, standing straight, holding her neck even more proudly than she might have on the first day of a new semester. “How do I look?” She asked, her expression sobering into her best princess face.