By evening, Hogwarts was unrecognizable.
The Great Hall glowed with soft, golden light — thousands of candles suspended beneath a ceiling streaked with twilight purples and silver stars. The long tables gleamed beneath crystal goblets and white silk runners. Even the portraits along the walls seemed hushed, as though aware this night meant something more than a term's end.
The air thrummed with gentle anticipation. Parents filled the side galleries — dignified pure-blood families seated beside Muggle ones in an arrangement both delicate and deliberate.
The Unspeakables watched discreetly from the far end; Ministry envoys and Governors observed from the expanded staff table. But the focus, unmistakably, was on the students.
At the Ravenclaw table sat Shya and Talora, flanked by Padma, Mandy, Lisa, and Luna — their laughter soft, their nerves carefully hidden.
They looked radiant.
Shya's black Dior dress shimmered subtly under the candlelight, cut just above the knee and paired with delicate silver straps. Her dark hair was curled loosely, pinned back with a touch of starlight shimmer, and a single paperclip diamond earring glinted when she turned her head. Her dragon-skin Birkin sat discreetly beside her chair, matching her polished shoes.
Talora wore pale emerald silk — also Dior, soft and flowing, sleeveless but high-collared, with subtle embroidery that caught the light like dew. Her earrings — emerald studs and her signature ruby-and-black-diamond ladybug pair — winked beneath her golden hair, which fell in soft curls down her shoulders.
Cassian and Roman, seated just across the aisle at the Slytherin table, were immaculate in dark tailored robes — fine cut, subtle silver and green embroidery catching at the edges when the candles flickered.
Cassian's bearing was calm, almost regal; Roman's, quietly confident.
Luna, a few seats down, wore soft lavender with silver threading, her wand tucked behind her ear and her camera strung across her chest. She'd insisted on taking photos — "for the owl delivery archive," she'd said, in all seriousness.
As dinner drew to its end, she began to snap pictures — each flash replaced by a warm burst of floating light that shimmered like a memory. "Smile!" she whispered as the Seven leaned in together. "I'm going to send copies to all your parents. And maybe frame one for the Haven. It likes happy things."
Mandy giggled. "Luna, you're a menace."
"A sentimental menace," Padma added fondly.
Up front, Dumbledore rose, the soft chatter dying into expectant silence. His robes shimmered faintly with gold embroidery — phoenix motifs woven through every line.
"Tonight," he began, his voice carrying through the hall with its usual quiet authority, "we celebrate not just the end of a school year, but the endurance of its heart — the courage of its students, the wisdom of its teachers, and the strange, unfailing resilience of the castle we call home."
He turned slightly toward the tables. "This year, Hogwarts witnessed something none of us ever hoped to see — and survived it, thanks to the courage and brilliance of a few who acted not out of glory, but out of duty and compassion."
A murmur rippled through the students — quiet reverence.
"The following students are hereby awarded the the Hogwarts Medal for Special Contribution and Merit."
Professor McGonagall unfurled a parchment, her expression both proud and unreadable. "Shya Gill. Talora Livanthos. Cassian Black. Roman Nott."
The applause was immediate — thunderous, echoing through the hall. Shya's breath caught as she rose, her parents standing aside on a table for just the parents , both smiling with pride. Talora's mother pressed a hand to her heart; her father stood tall, eyes bright.
Cassian and Roman exchanged a nod before stepping forward, their respective families watching in equal measure — the Notts dignified and proud, Andromeda serene, Ted grinning ear to ear, Tonks cheering outright.
Dumbledore smiled as the four reached the dais. "In times of danger, bravery is not always measured by battle — nor loyalty by words. You four — and your companions — have reminded us that courage comes in many forms: in thought, in restraint, in friendship, and in faith."
He extended a small box to each of them, inside which gleamed the medal — silver for Hogwarts, gold inlay for the Ministry's seal. "Wear it not as a mark of fame," Dumbledore said gently, "but as a reminder — that you stood for light when it would've been easier to hide in the dark."
Applause filled the hall again. Fawkes, perched on the rafters, let out a single, hauntingly beautiful trill — and the enchanted ceiling brightened as though dawn itself had risen indoors.
Luna caught that exact moment in a photograph — the four of them bathed in golden light, their faces half in awe, half in disbelief.
"I'll make copies," she whispered, smiling to herself. "Everyone deserves to remember this."
The Great Hall had mostly emptied, the celebration winding down as students drifted off to bed, their excitement tempered by exhaustion. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a deep, starry night, and the floating candles had dimmed to a soft, intimate glow.
Only a few clusters remained. At the center of one were the Gills and Livanthoses, their quiet conversation with the other Muggle-born families a low hum of mutual understanding.
At the far end of the hall, Hermione Granger sat alone at the Gryffindor table. She picked at a leftover treacle tart, her brow furrowed. The joy of the petrified students being healed and the monster being defeated was now overshadowed by a creeping confusion. Where were Harry and Ron? They had participated, they were heroes—they should be here, bathing in the relief and admiration.
Instead, an unsettling chill seemed to have settled over the Gryffindors who remained, their glances skittering away from her.