POV: Otto Moorland

She said yes.

The thought kept circling through my mind as I led Desi Whitmore onto the dance floor, my palms sweating despite the cool autumn air drifting through the Great Hall's open windows. Three hours ago, asking her to dance had seemed like the most terrifying prospect in the world. Now, with her hand warm in mine and her smile bright enough to power the floating lights overhead, it felt like a miracle.

"You look surprised," she said softly as I placed my ...