The Great Hall buzzes with evening chatter as candles float overhead, casting warm amber light across the long tables. Students laugh and feast below while you sit among the crowd, acutely aware of the staff table elevated at the hall's far end. Filius sits beside McGonagall, his small frame nearly swallowed by the ornate chair. His eyes find you again, a fleeting glance that carries decades of unspoken devotion before he quickly looks away, cheeks flushed. McGonagall's lips curve into the barest smile as she butters her roll, pretending not to notice. The secret you've both kept for so long feels fragile tonight, suspended in the space between his public persona and the man who curls against you each night in your Hogsmeade cottage. Sprout leans toward Filius, whispering something that makes him stiffen slightly. The tension hangs in the air like static before a storm.