Chapter Text
NRC’s Valentine’s Gala was meant to raise money, spirits, and public affection for the arts, but by midnight the only things it promised to raise were dirty cash, eyebrows, and blood pressure.
Yuu stepped through the Gala doors, breath catching—not because of the glamor, but because she had nothing to wear that didn’t look like she had escaped from a Dickens novel. Thankfully, she’d let Ruggie guilt her into borrowing a Pomefiore-approved jacket. It was crimson velvet. Probably cursed. Fit like a dream. So now, at least she looked like her haunted wardrobe was on purpose.
The grand hall had been transfigured for the evening—opal chandeliers floated just above the ceiling like captive stars, casting a soft blush-pink light over the room. Every surface gleamed: tablecloths shimmered like satin hearts, and even the floor had been enchanted to reflect the sky outside, scattered with slow-moving clouds and a waxing silver moon.
Beside her, Grim strutted proudly in a tiny black bowtie . It was slightly crooked. His fur had been combed, if not willingly. He looked like a fuzzy gentleman thief at a royal wedding.
“Alright, cue the swooning,” he muttered. “I’m here. You’re welcome, public.”
“I want you to remember that, the next time I comb your fur,” she muttered, scanning the room for empty seats.
The long banquet tables were draped in lace and rose motifs. Tiny floating teacups bobbed above the centerpiece arrangements, pouring themselves just a little too slowly , as if savoring the drama. At the front of the hall, the auction stage loomed—a gleaming platform with a massive, enchanted golden bidding board hovering overhead, already glowing with names, and below it, the seating areas:
Heartslabyul’s table was arranged in strict symmetry. Riddle was already lecturing someone about sugar cubes.
Savannaclaw's group—evidently told to dress how they pleased—was half-shirtless, surrounded by empty meat trays, growling at anyone who got too close.
At Octavinelle's Jade was smiling over something and applying mushroom-flavored lip balm. She shuddered.
Diasomnia’s table glowed faintly green, like a haunted forest in a ballroom. Malleus was absent. Sebek was not.
Pomefiore’s table was, of course, pristine. Rook leaned back in his chair like he’d just read everyone’s secrets. Vil looked like he was judging the candlesticks.
“So what’s the plan?” Grim asked, tail twitching, sniffing a chocolate rose.
“Eat free food, avoid drama, and don’t let you climb into the fondue fountain again.”
“That happened once. ”
“It was last week, and it shouldn’t have happened at all.”
Once more, Ramshackle had not been designated an entire banquet table—which was just fine with Yuu. She and Grim slipped into seats at the end of their usual crew’s table, where Ace and Deuce were arguing about how much was too much to bid on a kiss from someone you don’t technically have feelings for.
Odd.
Yuu settled into her seat, trying to relax, sipping a vaguely heart-shaped fruit punch from a hovering glass.
“You two look like you’re preparing a thesis defense,” she greeted.
“Evening to you too,” said Ace, gesturing at his punch like it had betrayed him.
“What exactly are we arguing about today?”
Deuce pointed dramatically at Ace. “He says bidding over 20 thaumarks for a kiss doesn’t mean anything, but if it’s less than that, I mean, it’s obviously platonic.”
“I said it can not mean anything!” Ace shot back. “It’s a kiss. For charity. It’s seasonal!”
Yuu blinked at them, unimpressed and suspicious. “Has the heart-shaped confetti gotten into your drinks?”
Grim, freshly fluffed and straightening his bowtie climbed into her lap and started helping himself to the cheese tray.
Deuce leaned in. “It’s the Valentine’s Gala thing. They're doing an auction—one kiss per dorm, from volunteers. All the proceeds are going to the old theatre restoration behind Pomfiore. You know. So underprivileged kids can use it and stuff.”
“So like… magical speed dating crossed with a livestock show,” she said.
“Wow, Yuu. You don’t have a romantic bone in your entire body. Is it contagious?” Ace deadpanned.
“Let’s hope not.” She poured a separate drink for Grim before he got fur in hers. “So, who are the, um, volunteers? Is it Cater?”
“Oh my Seven,” Deuce gasped, eyes bulging. “You missed it.”
“What did I miss?”
Ace leaned in, grinning like the devil after a good day in court. “Riddle. Got volunteered.”
“Cater volunteered him. In front of everyone in the dorm,” Deuce wheezed.
Yuu blinked. “ Riddle. Riddle Rosehearts. The one who writes people up for crooked ties?”
“And unfolded socks. And the number of sugar cubes you use it tea. And the way you fold your shirts…” Ace listed. “He stood there with that ‘I’m going to murder someone’ face, and Cater just kept talking about how the dorm should be represented by someone iconic. Responsible. Symmetrical.”
“And,” Deuce added helpfully, “how as Housewarden, Riddle technically has a duty to stand in for Heartslabyul if no one else volunteers. Because it’s in the—what was it— ‘codified spirit of Heart no. 2: Representation of Order’ or something. ”
“So... he weaponized the rules against Riddle,” Yuu said slowly.
“And the best part?” Deuce said, eyes shining. “Riddle actually went along with it. He straightened his jacket, stood up in silence, bowed, and said:”
‘Very well. I shall take this burden upon myself as a symbol of Heartslabyul’s pride and restraint.’
“And then he walked off like he was being drafted.”
Yuu snorted. “I actually feel better that you got some advance notice. I thought for a moment I was gonna have to send Grim up there or something.”
Grim struck a pose. “I’m rare. High-quality. Pure-blooded cryptid.”
“No one could afford your ego, Grim.”
“YOU can’t afford me,” Grim retorted.
“True.”
Around them, the evening marched on with increasing elegance and decreasing restraint.
Somewhere between the chocolate course and the magically synchronized violin duel, the ballroom floor had filled with dancers—pairs, trios, dueling friend groups doing synchronized stomping that might have been a cultural dance from Scarabia or a brewing fight from Savannaclaw.
Yuu stayed on the edge of it all. Safe. Casual. Invisible-ish.
Vil performed a haunting, barely disguised love song that made half the school swoon and the other half suspicious. Rook interpreted it from the balcony in dramatic silhouette, which might’ve been planned or might’ve been Rook being Rook.
Grim attempted to challenge a seven-layer cake to a duel. He actually won.
At some point, Trey passed out personalized tartlets. Ruggie sold three roses and a meat skewer. Jamil caught Floyd trying to waltz with the ice sculpture. Azul refused to dance unless money was involved.
Eventually, the floating candles dimmed, and the music softened. Headmage Crowley appeared atop the enchanted platform, wearing his most questionably sequined cape and holding a jeweled microphone he absolutely did not need.
“Good evening, students, staff, and distinguished guests from Night Raven Academy, guests from Nobel Bell, and beyond!” he called, voice echoing across the ballroom.
Yuu turned with the rest to watch, attention fixed, if anything, out of morbid curiosity as Crowley continued.
“Thank you all for your generous support of our Valentine’s Charity Gala, in aid of restoring our beloved—but structurally reckless—theatre ruins!”
The enchanted bidding board glowed to life behind him.
“And now—what you’ve all been waiting for—our Annual Kiss Auction! ”
A ripple of polite applause. Someone wooed. A few people whistled. Grim gagged theatrically, and Yuu gave him an appreciative pat on the back.
“Tonight, our brave volunteers—one from each official dormitory—have offered a kiss, symbolic of the affection and unity our school embodies!”
“Is the unity on fire this year?” Grim muttered.
“It makes things sound better,” Deuce hissed.
“Let’s begin,” Crowley announced grandly, “with the fierce heart of Savannaclaw!”
The bidding board swirled, and up appeared:
Lot #1: Leona Kingscholar
Donated—by Ruggie Bucchi