Saturday, 5 May 1923
9:00 pm
Alice stepped into the night, leaving Hogwarts behind her as she emerged in Hogsmeade. The idea of sneaking out had never been one she entertained; she’d always thought it reckless of those who did it often. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to risk getting caught leaving Hogwarts and getting detention.
That was the old Alice Ravenstone. The new one didn’t care as much. If her father found out, he’d throw her into St. Mungo’s and claim her to be crazy like Everleigh.
Benji had only teased her a little bit when she asked how to sneak out successfully. She’d been known in their group to be a “mother hen” of sorts, to try to keep everyone on the right track. But with her grades slipping, and being overlooked for prefect, she found that she didn’t care nearly as much. He could tease her all he wanted. What she knew was that freedom was so close and she wanted to see Mateo again.
When they’d parted ways earlier after she’d had her two glasses of wine, Alice went shopping. She still purchased the things for her sister as she had planned, but also stopped into a clothing store. His request was for her to wear something less expensive, and the girl didn’t really even know what that meant. Surely he didn’t mean rags, so she asked the clerk. Between the both of them, she picked a dark blue drop-waist frock. One that looked, in her opinion, boring but respectable without being flashy.
That was what she was most nervous about, if she were honest. Sneaking out had been the easy part. But when her brown eyes caught his figure sitting on the bench she’d seen earlier, her insides did this weird thing that ended with her feeling nervous. What if she’d gotten it wrong? What if she was too plain now?
Looking in the mirror before sneaking out, after her roommates were asleep, Alice felt like she didn’t look rich anymore. She’d left her hair down in waves, not messy of course, but not refined like it usually was and certainly not pulled back.
She spotted the glow of Mateo’s cigarette as he drew from it, biting her lip as his figure turned into muted colors, which eventually turned into him. Her stomach flipped. His arm was stretched out along the back of the bench. She carefully sat in the spot next to him, not too close, her back straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Alice knew wine would help her return to the girl who had opened up to him in the pub earlier. “Where are we going?” she asked, only briefly glancing at the castle she’d just snuck out of.
Hogsmeade was quiet now. She took a breath and closed her eyes, smiling up at the stars.
He watched her approach through the quiet of night, eyes trailing the blue of her dress, the loose waves of her hair, the stiffness of her posture that neither could quite disguise.
Mateo glanced at her when she sat, unable to keep one corner of his mouth from curling as his gaze dropped to the folded hands in her lap. Pureblood through and through, ingrained so deeply it seemed she was wearing a costume. Something about the contradiction was oddly amusing to him.
Maybe a little more of that red wine would loosen her up again.
Mateo took the last drag of his cigarette.
“Where are we going?”
He flicked the stub away with his middle finger and thumb, then held out his hand for her to take. Exhaling a thin stream of smoke, he grinned. “Dancing.” He flicked a brow. When she took his hand, Mateo pulled her to her feet, and a moment later, Hogsmeade gave way to London.
The dark alley off the main road where they landed was deserted. Releasing Alice’s hand, Mateo nodded for her to follow. “Ever been to Muggle London?” He grinned broadly as he stepped into the streetlight and noise of Great Windmill Street, eager to see her reaction.
Saturday night. Soho was alive.
Motorcars and taxis crawled through the streets, theatre crowds spilled onto the pavement, and cigarette smoke lingered beneath the smell of roasted chestnuts. Pubs and cafés threw warm light into the night, while up and down the street, people young and old found their way out for the evening—or finally home after a long day of work.
Walking backwards for a moment, Mateo watched Alice’s face, before he turned and fell into step beside her. They hadn’t gone far when a mundane-looking shopfront appeared to their right. Finch & Bell—Instruments and Repair. Opening the door, Mateo let Alice enter first before stepping inside himself.
Behind a counter, a man in his fifties sporting a round belly looked up from his register, peering at them over the rim of his glasses.
“Two?”
“Two.”
The shopkeeper glanced at Alice, then back at Mateo.
“You know the rules.”
“I do.”
“Then don’t cause trouble.”
Mateo grinned crookedly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
And with a flick of the man’s wand, the door at the far wall—one that appeared to be no more than an ordinary storage room—sizzled and shimmered, its surface turning an impossible, luminous blue. Mateo glanced at Alice and nodded for her to follow.
Upon stepping through, smoke and music wrapped around them like warm velvet.
A cavernous ballroom that had no business fitting beneath the narrow London building replaced the little, cramped shop. Dark timber lined the walls, while enchanted lamps drifted lazily beneath the ceiling, casting a hazy golden glow through the layer of cigarette smoke overhead.
Couples crowded the polished wooden dance floor, moving to the lively rhythm of a jazz band playing from a raised stage at the far end. Laughter rose above the music, glasses clinked, and conversations blurred together into one warm, indistinct hum.
After another glance at Alice, Mateo grabbed one of her hands and pushed through the crowd, past the round tables lining the edges of the floor occupied by groups talking over drinks, towards the bar taking up one corner of the room. No one cared who they were. No one spared them a second glance.
Stopping at the bar, Mateo turned to look at Alice.
“Good?” he asked, making sure she wasn’t experiencing a full-fledged culture shock and panic attack.
“Drink?” he followed up with, grinning wider, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Dancing.”
Alice tilted her head slightly, a small smirk gracing her lips. The only kind of dancing she had ever partaken in was the kind that involved formal training and ballrooms. It was the kind that her father sanctioned, but she had a feeling – no, it was more than a feeling – that he would not approve of the kind of dancing that was in the plans for the night.
He disposed of the cigarette and then stood, offering her his hand. She accepted it, noting the roughness of his skin, before they were whisked away with the familiar sensation of apparition. She’d not expected that, but also didn’t know of where in Hogsmeade they’d go dancing.
The alley they appeared in was dark, and when he released her hand, she felt the smallest bit of disappointment. Despite it being rough, she liked the physical contact.
“Ever been to Muggle London?”
Alice’s eyes widened briefly, surprised, but then she grinned. “Thatcher Ravenstone would never,” she commented and followed him out of the alley. She squinted in the stark brightness of headlights as motorcars drove past, and felt a bit like a fish out of water.
She looked at the street, watched the vehicles move past. She’d never been in one, had never even touched one. The sounds of them driving past was odd, a bit loud, but not enough to scare her. When she looked ahead of her, she saw Mateo walking backwards to watch her. She smiled, and sped up a bit.
The one thought that entered her mind when they entered the shop was that her father would have a coronary if he knew what she was doing, which just made her want to do it more. No hesitation at all, whether she should hesitate or not.
She stood next to Mateo, her eyes wandering over the instruments that were hanging on the wall behind the clerk. She had no idea what they were talking about – what the rules might be, or what they could do to cause trouble.
But before she realized it, the door at the far wall had transformed. She followed her guide through, and instantly felt the music wrap around them. Among other things.
She stood very still for a moment.
The music was loud and warm and entirely unlike anything she’d ever heard up close: jazz, she recognized it distantly. The smoke and the laughter and the golden lamplight and the couples moving on the floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Alice felt her muscles relax. No one knew her name here. That fact alone landed somewhere in her chest like something released. Even better, her father had no clue where she was.
“Good?”
“Good,” she said and meant it more than she had meant anything all day.
“Drink?”
She looked at him, at the mischief in his eyes, and felt that almost-smile become a real one without her permission. Her first real one since meeting Mateo.
“And yes,” she added. “Definitely a drink.”
Alice looked back at the dance floor. People moving, laughing, entirely unbothered by who was watching or what anyone thought.
“And then,” she said, almost to herself, though her eyes were now back on Mateo’s, “I want to dance.”
Mateo watched her smile spread and her eyes come to life with it, twinkling in the room’s dim glow. It was the first time she looked happy. Unrestrained and loose. Nothing like the stiffly composed girl he had encountered that morning.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered when she had genuinely smiled like that last, if she ever had. How repressed her life beneath Thatcher Ravenstone’s roof really was, how cold, and whether Mateo was actually doing her a favour by offering her this escape.
No one could accuse him of being overtly sentimental or soft—quite the opposite, really—but something about seeing Alice light up left him with a quiet satisfaction, tugging his grin a little wider. Perhaps it was because, for once, he was giving something instead of taking, a short illusion of freedom, but more good than he had done in the past several months.
It wasn’t much, and in the end, his actions had nothing to do with benevolence. Still, Mateo allowed himself that brief flicker of contentment.
If anything, his plan was working.
“Definitely a drink.”
He smirked and watched as her eyes swept over the dance floor again, drinking in the scenery as though she had never seen anything more exciting in her life. Maybe she hadn’t.
“And then, I want to dance.”
Her gaze returned to his. Mateo grinned. “Heard.”
A moment later, he pushed a small glass into her hand. “Whiskey,” he said, clinking his own against hers. “Not the red wine appropriate for a lady, but I think you’re past that.” He winked and, with a swift toss of his head, downed his drink before his reluctance could win out.
The taste made him wince, bitter and sharp as it burned down his throat, his father’s face flashing behind his eyes, but he violently shoved it aside. A little too quickly, Mateo rid himself of the glass, abandoning it on a nearby table.
The moment Alice had done the same, Mateo’s hand was already around hers, and just as the band struck up something faster, the piano skipping along beneath a lively rhythm of brass and drums, he pulled her onto the dance floor, straight into the moving crowd. He swung her around, catching her against his chest as his free hand settled at the small of her back.
“Forget everything they taught you.” He grinned down at her, and before she could start thinking too much about what that meant, Mateo swept her into motion.
There was nothing proper about it. No careful ballroom distance, no measured steps. He danced like he had learned to among crowds like these and worse—loose and quick, letting the music guide their steps and directions, paying little attention to patterns. Without much thinking, Mateo moved them to the rhythm of the music, instinctive and easy, always watching Alice’s face. A low, genuine chuckle escaped him when he spun her beneath his arm and caught her again at his side.
He knew damn well this had nothing to do with the way she had been taught to dance, but that was rather the point.
Alice tilted her head at the small glass Mateo put in her hand, glancing into his eyes as she watched him toss it back and then wince slightly. She considered opting not to partake, but finally did take the shot.
It burned. Worse than anything she could imagine. She missed the wine. The wine she knew. Whiskey? She had no idea what that was.
But she set the glass down uncarefully, her eyes watering as she looked up at her companion. The moment was gone quickly; Mateo pulled her to the dance floor, into the moving crowd.
She’d been taught to dance the correct way, the proper way. This was nothing like it.
The music had shifted into something a bit more ‘hoppy’, which was the only word she could think of to describe it. He flung her out, and then pulled her back in, and her chest landed against his chest. His hand on the small of her back. She laughed, unable to contain the sound anymore.
“Forget everything they taught you.”
Alice nodded, very slightly, pulling her further into the motion of the dance before her feet had even agreed to go. The music was everywhere, the brass section bright and insistent, the piano skipping underneath like it was chasing something.
"I don't know how to do this," she said, which came out less like a compliment and more like a confession.
But, despite this, her feet were already trying anyway.
He spun her and she went with it, slightly off balance, catching herself against his arm and laughing again at the indignity of it. Around them people moved like they’d been born knowing how to do this, loose and quick and entirely unbothered.
Alice finally, about halfway through the song, was able to shed the last bit of resistance to letting go, and stopped thinking about whether she was doing it correctly.
That’s the moment she finally began to feel truly free.
It took barely any time, and Mateo felt Alice’s rigidity melt away. Her feet struggled to keep up with the quick, unpredictable way he swept her over the dance floor, though she didn’t seem to mind. The smile on her face didn’t look as though it could grow any wider, and the way she laughed each time she had to catch herself against his arm so she wouldn’t topple over said enough in its own way.
Mateo never really knew his next move either, simply going with whatever felt right, guiding her through the movements as carefree as dancing ought to be.
He wasn’t much of a dancer. Usually he preferred to listen to the music from a table in the corner of the room, a bowl of salted peanuts in front of him, and a pretty girl by his side whom he could wrap around his finger and use to make his night a little sweeter. He indulged them sometimes—if they insisted on dancing, and if it got him closer to what he wanted—and he supposed it was much the same with Alice now.
Except his intentions with her were rather different from the reason he usually found himself on the dance floor.
The things he did for money. The things he did for family.
The whiskey sat warm and heavy in his stomach, loosening something in him and creating just enough ease to make the whole thing feel natural.
For a moment, it almost was.
The song ended as quickly as it had begun. Mateo caught Alice on the last turn, letting her stumble into him with another laugh before the band slowly slipped into something more unhurried. The melody mellowed, the piano settling into a softer rhythm, and Mateo glanced down at Alice with a slight, mischievous curl of his lips.
“This one’s easier,” he said, his hand settling at the small of her back as he guided her into the slower rhythm, moving them idly amongst the other couples. “Won’t make you trip all over me.”
He grinned.
For a moment, he let the music settle between them, swaying her gently through the crowd. At last, he looked back at her.
“Thatcher Ravenstone, hm?” he asked softly, arching a brow in amusement.
She had mentioned her father’s name earlier, consciously or not—something she hadn’t done this morning in Hogsmeade. Then, she had only been Alice. At least officially. Unofficially, Mateo already knew all about her identity, of course.
“Who would have thought London’s underground would get such a royal visit tonight?” he said after a beat, guiding her into an easy spin before gently tugging her back against his side. His voice lowered, his mouth close to her ear. “I hope he doesn’t find out his daughter’s been out with rabble like me. I don’t think it’d end well for me.”
He pulled back, his eyes twinkling.
“My fate lies in your hands, Alice.”
The song shifted before she was ready for it to.
Something slower settled over the room, the brass stepping back and the piano taking over, unhurried and soft. The crowd around them adjusted naturally, couples drawing closer, the frantic energy of the last song dissolving into something much warmer. She was still catching her breath from the last one, still faintly laughing at herself.
Mateo’s hand found the small of her back again and guided her into the new rhythm without asking. She followed easily, which still surprised her a little.
“Thatcher Ravenstone, hm?”
Alice forgot she’d said his name out loud. She hadn’t meant to. The sound of it in this room was almost funny. A bit absurd, if she were honest.
“Who would have thought London’s underground would get such a royal visit tonight?”
She smirked, allowing him to spin her easily before tugging her back to his side. She was getting used to the feel of his body against hers, and was close to resting her head on his chest when suddenly he was whispering near her ear. The feel of his breath sent a warmth through her body she hadn’t expected.
“I hope he doesn’t find out his daughter’s been out with rabble like me. I don’t think it’d end well for me.”
Alice’s eyes met his and she smirked.
“My fate lies in your hands, Alice.”
She tilted her head up a bit, amused. “Rabble… is that what you are?” she asked, the thought of her father thinking she had lowered herself to the standard required to be out with rabble pleased her.
“My father finding out would require him knowing where I am. Which would require me to tell him.” She shook her head slightly. “I have absolutely no intention of telling him.”
Truthfully, she only spoke to the man when she had absolutely no choice.
She let him spin her easily again, smiling back up at him when he brought her back. She’d been stepping back, to a proper distance, but this time she didn’t. She remained in his bubble and peered up at him, her head tilted. “You’re a better dancer than I expected. For rabble.”
“Rabble… is that what you are?”
Mateo chuckled softly, easing into a low, faintly contemplative hum. “Compared to you?” he asked, arching a brow as he looked out over the crowd, the people of lower-class magical Britain, mingling without much concern for who might be watching.
In the eyes of people from her world?
“Certainly.”
His gaze returned to hers, a small smile playing over his lips.
He wondered how much she really understood about any of this. Class differences. How out of place she truly was here, regardless of her disguise or the intentions that had brought her out tonight. How little she knew beyond the sheltered bubble of the elite she had grown up in. How much trouble it would cause him if her father did find out.
How men like Thatcher Ravenstone handled business. Rich. Powerful. Accustomed to getting their way. Men who could destroy someone like Mateo Wesley and walk away untouched, protected by money and connections, bending the world to their will.
How much he was truly risking here, dancing with her.
But of course she didn’t know. How could she? To her, this was a defiant act of rebellion. An unassuming grasp for freedom, without a thought for what might follow. To him, this was a calculated risk.
“My father finding out would require him knowing where I am. Which would require me to tell him. I have absolutely no intention of telling him.”
How endearingly naive. Mateo’s smile widened just a fraction.
“Hogwarts could find out,” he said, the words softly teasing as he tilted his head. “See you sneaking out or coming back in. Tell your father. Someone here could recognise you. Run to the papers.”
He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe it was his way of giving her an out. A chance to stop and think about what she was really doing here, to change her mind before it was too late and return to the world she belonged in. Perhaps it was his own heart catching up with him, strangely hesitant to be the one who led her into trouble she didn’t understand.
Mateo spun her out and back in, noting the way she remained close when he drew her against his chest and side again. His hand settled more firmly at the small of her back.
A strange time to grow a conscience.
He shoved it from his mind.
“You’re a better dancer than I expected. For rabble.”
Another grin crinkled his eyes, and Mateo chuckled lightly. “Just one of my many talents,” he said, quirking a brow. He let the words linger for a beat. With a glint in his eyes, he added, “You’ll have to stick around if you want to find out what the others are.”
“Hogwarts could find out. See you sneaking out or coming back in. Tell your father. Someone here could recognise you. Run to the papers.”
The thought hadn’t crossed her mind until he said it: Hogwarts finding out, someone recognizing her, the papers. She felt something scratch at the back of her brain, the old instinct toward caution and correctness. The trained response.
She looked around briefly. No one was watching them. No one in this room knew her name or her father’s or what either of those things meant. The jazz club continued its warm, indifferent hum around them, and she was just a girl in a blue dress who didn’t know how to dance to this more relaxed music properly.
“You’ll have to stick around if you want to find out what the others are.”
Alice looked back up at him and felt that flicker of hesitation she’d caught and lost before she could name it. It sat somewhere underneath his grin, underneath the confidence, underneath his ‘you’ll have to stick around’. She didn’t know what it meant. She filed it somewhere and let the music move her past it.
Her empathy, working even through whiskey and jazz.
“Many talents,” she repeated, her lips pulling up into a slight smirk. “That’s a very confident thing to say to someone you only met this morning.”
She didn’t step back. She was aware of his hand at the small of her back, warm through the thin fabric of her dress, and aware that she hadn’t made any move to create distance between them. The formal dancing she knew always had a careful gap built into it – measured, appropriate, deliberate. This had none of that. She didn’t miss it.
“Lucky for you, I don’t have anywhere particularly important to be.”
The song continued, and she stayed where she was, her head almost level with his shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth of him. She was aware that she wasn’t in any hurry for the music to stop. That was a new feeling: wanting to stay inside a moment rather than organize her way out of it.
“Though,” she said after a moment. “I wouldn’t say no to another drink.”
She didn’t move toward the bar.
She was enjoying being surrounded by him, and the drink could wait.
“Many talents. That’s a very confident thing to say to someone you only met this morning.”
Mateo tilted his head, still grinning. “Is it?” he mused, spinning them into a half-turn without warning. “I thought it was rather disarming. But perhaps I wasn’t properly taught.”
He supposed that was a lie.
His mother had raised hell trying to teach him the manners expected of a proper gentleman, or at the very least, basic courtesy and decorum. More importantly, she had tried to instil something deeper—Christian values. Love thy neighbour. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Blessed are the merciful. Resist not evil.
Thou shalt not kill.
He remembered the lessons. He remembered the verses. He even remembered believing in them once. But life had long since changed, and Mateo had changed with it. Somewhere along the way, he had adopted a different set of values. Shamelessly, he kept his eyes on Alice, the curl of his lips never wavering.
“Lucky for you, I don’t have anywhere particularly important to be.”
Who would have thought she could be drawn in this easily? A little freedom, a little attention. A night away from her daily rot, and she was already meeting him halfway.
“Lucky indeed,” Mateo smirked, wondering just how far beyond the cage’s golden bars Alice might try to reach tonight. He knew the feel of shrinking inhibitions. Hers seemed to dwindle by the minute. She mentioned another drink, but made no move towards the bar.
Mateo continued to sway with her as the music picked up again, his hand sliding a little farther around her waist and drawing her closer. The rhythm was already becoming quicker, more frenetic than the first song, and he fell easily into it.
“And what would you like to drink?” he asked over the rising, jumpy rhythm of the piano. “Whiskey?” His grin widened as he led Alice through a quick turn, then another, keeping her close as they twirled amidst the laughing, dancing crowd. “Scotch? Rum?” He spun her beneath his arm before catching her again, barely giving her time to find her footing before sweeping her into the next turn. “Maybe vodka?”
The music swelled around them, a crescendo of hectic piano and bright brass, carrying them across the dance floor in a whirl of flying dress hems and bumping shoulders.
Mateo laughed under his breath, thoroughly enjoying himself. “This is your chance to try them all, Alice.”
Alice was aware of Mateo’s hand sliding down a little further around her waist and she didn’t stop it. His hand on her felt secure, especially when he drew her closer. It was a statement that she was no longer her father’s. She didn’t think she was Mateo’s, but the important thing is that she was no longer Thatcher Ravenstone’s bastard daughter.
“Whiskey? Scotch? Rum? Maybe vodka?”
Mateo spun her once, twice, barely giving her time to find her footing before sweeping her into the next turn. Around them the dance floor had become a whirl of spinning dresses and bumping shoulders and laughter that she could feel in her chest.
She caught herself against his arm and laughed without trying to stifle it.
“Whiskey,” she said.
It had burned the first time. She remembered that. But her father drank the amber liquid, had always drunk whiskey, swirling it in crystal glasses in rooms she wasn’t supposed to enter. She’d watched him do it her entire life.
She wanted to drink it in a room he would never step foot in, and never find her in.
Alice let him spin her again, her dress catching the air, and came back laughing.
“Whiskey,” she said again, more certain this time. “And don’t let me fall over.”
She was already slightly breathless. The music swelled around them and she stopped thinking entirely, letting her feet follow his without caring whether she was doing it correctly.
She wasn’t, but she didn’t care. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and something sweet she couldn’t name, and the music was loud enough she could feel it in her sternum.
That was enough.
Whiskey.
Mateo chuckled as Alice laughed, continuing to twirl them along with the current of the dancing crowd—moving like water, rushing like wind. The music rose and rose, couples spinning faster and faster, and the whole room seemed alive beneath their feet, pulsing with energy. His breath came short, stinging his lungs, but Mateo didn’t stop.
For one carefree, unthinking minute, he let the moment catch up to him too. Everything else fell away. Swept up in the music and motion, Mateo let himself forget why he was here—the job, Goodman, the reason he’d first approached Alice—and pretend he was only dancing with a pretty girl because he’d felt like it.
For fun.
Reality seeped back in like ink swirling through water.
The song ended with a single, drawn-out blast of trumpet, piano, brass and drum, the final notes loud enough to make the whole building seem to shake. Mateo was back inside his head.
The crowd came to a sudden halt, dress hems twirling around ankles and calves, unsteady men stumbling as the women beside them caught hold of their arms. Mateo braced himself, his arm wrapped securely around Alice’s waist, planting his feet as he brought them to the same abrupt stop.
Breathless, he grinned down at her. “What kind of man would I be if I let you fall over?” he asked teasingly. He let the moment linger for another beat before finally releasing her. The arm around her waist fell away as he took a step back, though he kept hold of her other hand.
“Let’s get that whiskey.” With a small wink, he turned and pulled her toward the bar, interlacing their fingers in one slow, smooth motion. He only let go when the bar came into view, abandoning her hand to order their drinks. Once the bartender had served them, Mateo glanced around the room before nodding toward a free table tucked into the far corner.
He waited until Alice had settled onto the bench running along the entire length of the wall before taking the seat beside her. He set her whiskey down in front of her. A tumbler this time. Neat. Two knuckles. Proper whiskey.
Mateo leaned back and raised his own glass. “To freedom, I suppose.” His eyes twinkled at her over the rim as he took a sip.
Swallowing the bitterness, he set the glass down and turned toward her, leaning a little closer. “So how is it?” he asked, mischief colouring his voice. “Your first taste of freedom." A beat, and he grinned a little wider. "Regret it yet?”
Everyone stopped dancing at the same moment, almost as if it had been choreographed. She laughed as he braced both of them from the sudden change of motion.
“What kind of man would I be if I let you fall over?”
For just a moment, their eyes met and Alice grinned. And then the moment was gone, and his arm dropped from her waist, though his other hand remained in hers.
“Let’s get that whiskey.”
Mateo winked and then pulled her towards the bar, weaving his fingers through hers in one smooth motion. While she missed his arm around her waist, she found herself loving the sensation of their hands merged like this.
But that ended after a moment as well, when they reached the bar and he let go of her completely. While he ordered their drinks, she let her eyes roam the room they were in. The countless couples that had been spinning on the dancefloor were now taking breaks, since the band had also decided to take one, and the volume in the room was at a much more respectable level.
Alice glanced back at Mateo just in time to see him nod towards a table in the back corner, carrying both of their drinks as she made her way after him. She settled onto the bench first and then he joined her. She looked at the tumbler in front of her, her eyes a bit wide. She’d expected a tiny glass again, not one like this.
Proper whiskey. Two knuckles. Her father would have approved of the pour, at least, which she found darkly funny.
“To freedom, I suppose.”
Alice took a sip. It still burned, but less than the first time. Or perhaps she was just thirsty from the dancing. She held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, the warmth spreading down through her chest and settling somewhere lower.
She set her glass down just as he did and looked at him, noticing him leaning a bit closer to her.
“So how is it? Your first taste of freedom. Regret it yet?”
Alice looked at him, closer than he needed to be, which she noticed and didn’t mention. Nor did she mind.
“No,” she replied simply.
She turned the tumbler slowly in her fingers, looking at the room from their corner. The dance floor was empty now, and she missed the music. Hopefully the band would only be on break for a few moments. The golden lamplight was doing something warm to everything it touched.
“I think this might be the first decision I’ve made entirely for myself in a very long time,” she said. She tilted her head slightly, considering that. “Probably the first decision I’ve ever made for myself, actually.”
Alice took another drink, a bit longer this time before looking back at him. “So no. Not even a little regret.”
His eyes stayed on Alice as she spoke, watching her expression and the way her attention swept across the room. Slowly, hungrily, like someone who had tasted blood and wanted more. And yet, her voice still carried that same melancholic weight he had noticed before.
There always seemed to be something faintly contemplative about her. Quiet. Almost somber. Too serious for her age. Even here—even after he had watched her brighten and loosen, she seemed much older than seventeen.
It strangely reminded him of himself.
Alice’s eyes met his.
“So no. Not even a little regret.”
Mateo smirked, humming softly as his gaze dropped to the glass in his hand. He swirled the whiskey once, watching the amber liquid roll around the tumbler before taking another sip. A moment later, his gaze returned to Alice’s face.
“Good,” he said. His smile softened, losing some of the edge of mischief. There was something almost genuine in it now, something he couldn’t quite place.
This whole ordeal felt less straightforward with every passing minute. Harder to compartmentalise. This morning she had been a job with a face and a name—a rich girl dressed in finery, carrying herself with the quiet confidence of the elite. In the pub, she had become a girl trapped inside a cage, longing for freedom and autonomy, obviously unhappy with the life she had been handed and eager to break free.
And now?
There she sat. Simple blue dress, hair down, a tumbler of whiskey in hand.
Mateo wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her anymore.
He pushed the thought aside. Better not to make anything of her at all. She was a job, and nothing more. He would keep it at that.
Clinking his glass lightly against hers, Mateo leaned in just that little bit closer. His eyes held hers, the faint gleam of amusement returning as his voice dropped. “I hope it stays that way.”
The night passed in a blur of dim light, amber liquid, and rushing music. Mateo had never danced this much in one night, nor had he drunk this much, either. The whiskey had crept up on him gradually. First came the warmth settling beneath his ribs, then the pleasant heaviness in his limbs, the slight softening at the edges of his thoughts. Inhibitions and caution retreated beneath the surface, replaced by an unfamiliar, intoxicated carelessness.
Not drunk. Never drunk.
Affected. Enough to resent the whiskey in his blood and the memories it had dragged forth.
But he hadn’t allowed it to show. By the end of the night, the crooked grin still curled at his lips, the easy gleam still shone in his eyes, and he carried himself with the same careless confidence he’d worn from the moment they’d stepped into the dancehall.
The crack of their Apparition split the night. Hogsmeade materialised around them. Cold air, dark streets, quiet night. Mateo’s arm was wrapped around Alice’s waist just as securely as it had been during nearly every dance that evening. She stumbled slightly upon landing, and a soft chuckle rose from his chest. He tightened his grip on her.
“Will you make it back?” he asked teasingly, looking down at her with just the tiniest flicker of real concern. She didn’t look completely wrecked. Still, he couldn’t quite silence that small part of himself that chastised him for what he was doing.
Alice didn’t know how many glasses of whiskey she had. After the tumbler during the band’s break, she found herself back on the dance floor. Now, after what felt like hours of nonstop moving, she was finally out of the loudness.
Apparition was always easy for Alice, as she’d been traveling that way with her mother and father since she could remember. The landing this time caused her to stumble slightly, and she was immediately thankful for the strong arm around her waist helping her stand up straight. She held onto his forearm as she got her bearings.
She could hear his chuckle and she grinned up at him at her lack of gracefulness.
“Will you make it back?”
The concern was there on his face, and she could feel it too. Her chest did something, as her grin softened into a genuine smile. “Yes,” she said, which was probably true. She did not let go of his arm.
Alice turned her attention to the dark outline of Hogwarts in the distance, and sighed. She did not want to return to the prison that was her life, and that the castle represented in that moment. The inevitable was hanging over her head, and she leaned against him a bit more than she had all night.
She looked back up at him after a moment, into his brown eyes. “Tonight was…” she let her voice fade off, her thought left unfinished between them.
She had no choice though.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment, clearly fighting with herself. She wanted to stay, to never return to Hogwarts and to the life she’d been given.
Despite thanking him, Alice didn’t move. She frowned slightly. “Can we meet again next week? Please?” she asked, desperately needing something to look forward to. Even if she couldn’t leave her obligations permanently, she could at least have some fun in the meantime.
She said yes, and Mateo had little choice but to believe her. He could hardly walk her all the way up into the castle, though the small part of him that remembered his mother’s lessons insisted that he should.
But that crossed a line he had no intention of breaching. Beyond that, it was too risky. The last thing he needed was someone seeing him attempting to sneak into Hogwarts. That would end this job real fast, and his real one too, most likely. She would simply have to make it back on her own.
Her attention drifted toward the castle in the distance before returning to him.
“Tonight was…”
A small smile played over his lips, partly amused, partly genuine. He thought he understood what she was trying to say, but he remained silent. That reluctance shimmering in her eyes was exactly what he needed her to feel. The unwillingness to return and let the night end, to let go of him and the sliver of freedom he had shown her tonight.
When she thanked him, Mateo gave a faint shake of his head. “Nothing to thank me for,” he said, his voice low, softer than it had been all evening.
“Can we meet again next week? Please?”
Mateo watched her face.
The slight hint of desperation in her voice almost made his heart twinge a little, but he ignored it. She hadn’t made a move to free herself from his grip. She was looking at him as though he were the only person who could give her what she wanted. And her request was precisely what he had been hoping for.
Everything he had spent the evening working toward. Still, the tiny fraction of guilt remained. He firmly shoved it down until it died.
His smile hadn’t changed. If anything, he let it deepen.
“Sure,” he said. Slowly, he released his arm from around her waist, but he didn’t step away just yet. “If you can manage not to get caught.”
A beat passed before he reached for her hand. He gently turned it in his, his gaze dropping to watch his thumb brush once across her knuckles. When his eyes lifted back to hers, the familiar mischief had returned to his face.
“Same time, same place,” he said. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
His fingers lingered around hers for another moment before he let go.
“Just don’t get caught.”
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