At the front of the Hall, the staff dais has been reimagined as a grand bandstand. Behind it, a towering Hogwarts crest glows softly, framed by ribbons of magic and twinkling charmed lights. Enchanted instruments fill the space between live performances with the latest wizarding hits, creating a seamless flow of music throughout the evening. Taking to the stage over the course of the night is a delightful mix of familiar Hogwarts faces and magical favourites.

Highlights from the evening’s set list include:

• Aurora Bay, sixth year (vocals)
• Aurora Barrington, second year (flute)
• Professor Cox (acoustic guitar, vocals)
• Avalon Dane, fourth year (vocals)
• Diallo Dreamer, second year (vocals)
• Rajan Patil, fourth year (vocals)
• Tiffany Rose, sixth year (harmonica)
• Ariel Scamander, fifth year (vocals)
• Freya Snakebark, fourth year (violin)
• Kara Walsh, fourth year (vocals, ukulele, keyboard/piano)
• Cathryn Webb, second year (violin)
• Performances by the Hogwarts Orchestra
• Selections from the Hogwarts Frog Choir

…and plenty of additional magical music woven throughout the evening.

The performance area isn’t just for watching from afar. Between sets, performers are free to step down and mingle, inviting casual conversations and shared laughter beneath floating House pennants and softly glowing magical accents. The audience is welcome to chat with musicians, compliment singers, request favourites, or simply enjoy the ebb and flow of the evening. Whether you’re twirling beneath enchanted candles, swaying along to your favourite tune, or simply finding a cozy spot to people-watch, this is a space made for connection.

OOC: Please note that there is no required posting order for performances from characters who signed up. Characters and RPers do not need to wait their turn to post, as the set list exists purely for in-character flavour and context. Feel free to jump in at any time!

Cox stood just off to the side of the reimagined dais, half turned from the main flow of the evening and chatter washing around him with all the relevance of background noise. His attention—entirely, pointedly—rested on the instrument in his hands.

A single string rang out.

Flat.

Of course it was.

"Bloody poltergeist," he murmured under his breath, jaw tightening as his fingers adjusted the tuning peg.

There was no witness testimony, but the particular thoroughness of the disruption had all the hallmarks of that uniquely irritating brand of interference.

Another string. Sharp, this time.

"I do hope," he said, almost conversationally, as though the poltergeist might be lingering somewhere just out of sight, "that whatever fleeting amusement was derived from this was worth the inevitable consequence."

Cox neither looked nor lingered on any other section of the Great Hall, at least not for now. Ravenclaw, notably, did not require his immediate supervision at this time. Helena would manage just fine and if not, he would be informed.

His thumb brushed once along the neck of the guitar before he resumed, each adjustment measured with the same quiet intensity he brought to his classroom. May this mild guitar fiasco be the only nonsense of the evening ― absolutely no blue hair this feast, yes?

Another note rang out and he stilled it almost immediately with the edge of his palm, head tilting a fraction as he listened for the residual pitch. His fingers moved with quiet precision to the tuning peg, tightening it by the smallest increment before plucking the string again, this time isolating it cleanly from the others. His expression shifted by the barest degree, irritation easing only a sliver as he adjusted once more.

Marina entered the Great Hall already mid-spin.

Not literally. Just… internally. The music, the lights, the way the whole room felt like it had been dipped in celebration and set gently aglow, it all hit her at once and she paused just past the threshold, eyes wide, grin immediate and unstoppable.

“Oh this is - this is a lot,” she murmured, clearly meaning perfect.

She drifted forward, not in a straight line so much as a series of curious detours, brushing past tables, clocking decorations, mentally cataloguing snacks for later retrieval. The bandstand drew her attention quickly, of course it did, and she angled toward it with the kind of interest that suggested she would absolutely end up too close to something she shouldn’t touch.

And then -

She saw him.

Marina stopped mid-step.

Professor Cox stood just off to the side, all quiet focus and irritation wrapped neatly around a guitar that had clearly committed some kind of personal offense. The contrast alone was enough to make her grin, slow and bright and entirely unhelpful.

“Oh, this is dangerous,” she whispered to herself.

And then, because she had never once in her life chosen the less chaotic option when a better one presented itself - she lifted two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp, bright whistle that cut cleanly through the music. Not obnoxious. Not prolonged. Just pointed.

Her grin widened into something openly, shamelessly pleased with itself.

“Looking very rock and roll, Professor!” she called, not loud enough to derail the entire hall, but certainly loud enough to reach him. Then, as if that hadn’t just happened, she clasped her hands behind her back and rocked once on her heels, eyes still on him, entirely unapologetic.

If there were consequences, she would meet them.

Later.

Maybe.

For now, Marina simply beamed, as though she had just improved the evening by at least fifteen percent

The next note he struck faltered, but not because of any fault of the instrument.

Cox stilled the string at once, fingers flattening against its neck with a measured inhale. His eyes closed briefly, as though the sound — and the moment — might be contained there, while the rest of the Hall carried on in blissful ignorance of the precise point at which his patience had, once again, been tested.

And, inevitably, by one very specific blonde Gryffindor.

Perhaps, had Peeves not already seen fit to aggravate him, he might have extended a greater measure of tolerance. Unfortunately for Miss García Massey, when his gaze lifted, it did so with icy precision tempered only by the faintest sliver of resignation.

The guitar remained in his hands, but his attention had shifted entirely to the second year.

Because of course it was her.

A beat passed, his expression unreadable save for the faint tightening at the corner of his eyes and the way he attempted to swallow down some of the bite to his voice.

"That," he said evenly, "was neither appropriate to the setting nor to the company in which you currently find yourself." His head tilted a fraction and the look that followed more pointed than the words themselves. "You will refrain from directing that manner, that particular brand of whistle, of attention toward any member of the faculty."

Or anyone else, for that matter.

"If you find yourself uncertain as to the distinction between encouragement and impropriety," he continued, tone returning to something almost conversational in its precision, "I would suggest erring on the side of silence."

End of term or not, it would have been well within reason to deduct points. The thought crossed his mind — Gryffindor slipping just behind Slytherin at the final moment held a certain appeal — but even he could acknowledge the poor form of it here, now, amidst the evening’s festivities. The alternative, however... a neatly assigned summer essay on the social applications of whistling... remained very much under consideration.

His gaze held for only a second longer before dropping back to the instrument, fingers already returning to the strings as though the interruption had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"And, while the enthusiasm is... appreciated," he added, the faintest warmth threading into his tone, "I would suggest reserving it for those who trade in spectacle, actual Wrock stars. I'm just a simple professor with an acoustic guitar."

Humility. Yes, he did in fact ― by some small miracle ― have some.

The sound of her own whistle seemed to hang in the air for exactly one second too long.Marina’s grin held through the first beat of his silence. Through the second.

And then it… didn’t.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. It just… slipped. Like something had quietly unhooked it from behind her ribs.

Oh.

She hadn’t expected that. Her shoulders straightened instinctively as he spoke, chin lifting a fraction in that very Gryffindor way that tried to pass composure off as intention. But the words still landed - not sharp, not cruel, but precise in a way that made them feel worse. Like being corrected in ink instead of pencil. Permanent. Considered.

Her fingers curled briefly behind her back.

“I - ”Marina started, and then stopped, because there wasn’t anything she could say that didn’t feel either too small or too much. Sorry felt wrong. Defensive felt worse. So she did what she always did when caught off guard -

She recalibrated. A breath in. A tiny nod.

“Right. Yes. Of course, Professor.”

It came out steadier than she felt, polite and neat and just this side of distant, like she’d folded the moment up and tucked it somewhere out of sight. Her mouth tilted into something that might have been a smile if you didn’t look too closely at it.

“Noted.” She didn’t linger. That, at least, she got right.

Marina shifted her weight back, hands dropping from behind her as she turned, just a touch too quickly, and slipped back into the current of the Hall. The music caught her again, the chatter, the light - everything exactly as it had been, unchanged and unaware. Only now it felt a little louder. A little further away.

She made it halfway to the Gryffindor table before grabbing the nearest cup of something and taking a sip she didn’t taste, eyes fixed very firmly anywhere but the dais.

It had been a good idea.

It had been a great idea.

It had, very clearly, not been.

That was all… unfortunate. To watch, that is. Which is exactly what Cat did. She hadn’t meant to - she’d been on her way to scope out the stage for her later performance - and the interaction between Marina and Professor Cox had caught her off-guard. What really bothered her, though, was Marina’s reaction to the whole ordeal.

Best friend to the rescue.

Cat quickened her previous pace and made a bee-line to the Gryffindor in question. Right as the girl stopped for a drink, Cat reached her, attempting to slide her arm through the gap between Marina’s elbow and her body, gave a dramatic spin, and began marching POINTEDLY AWAY FROM A CERTAIN PROFESSOR.

Hmph.

“First off,” she started with absolutely no preamble, “He does look very rock and roll. A guitar is, like, the definition of that.” She paused at a self-approved distance and turned to face her friend. “So, in my humble opinion,” And she was a Ravenclaw after all - her opinion had at least some merit, “You were entirely correct and someone should apologize for hurting your feelings.”

HMPH.

Or, apparently, not enough humility for some.

Though it would be a distinct miscalculation to measure such things against the sensibilities of a pair of 13-year-old girls.

The lesson had been learned and that was more than enough for him to resume his tuning. Another string was tested more gently this time, his ear attuned to the subtle shift in pitch as he adjusted the peg by the smallest degree, and his lips nearly curled into a smile. Finally.

Only then did his gaze lift.

Miss Webb’s expression was… unmistakable.

He held it for a moment before offering the slightest inclination of his head, not quite an acknowledgment, and certainly not an apology. Should Miss Garcia-Massey be distressed, it certainly was not due to any lack of clarity on his part. Nor had it been due to the Gryffindor referring to him as 'rock and roll'. As compelling a sentiment as Miss Webb's words were ― those that he could hear, at least ― it was curious how selectively such apologies were distributed.

Because if they were, in fact, being issued… one might reasonably inquire as to where his had gone.

He adjusted the tuning peg by a fraction, testing the string again—letting the note ring just long enough to confirm it held. His thumb brushed lightly along the strings, followed by his fingers, coaxing a short progression from the his guitar. The next pass carried a little further, the opening line of the chorus taking shape beneath his hands and the sound clean at last.

At least that was one problem resolved without too much consternation.

Marina let herself be taken by the elbow and spun - because it was Cat and she was the only one allowed right now. ONLY ONE. So, she Did not resist it. Did not question it. Just… went with it, drink still in hand, feet moving because Cat had decided they were moving and that, frankly, felt easier than thinking for a second.

She stared straight ahead for a moment after they stopped, blinking once, twice, like she was buffering. And then she squared her shoulders, determined to ignore the guitar string she could still hear. “I’m not - ” she started, immediate and automatic, already halfway to dismissing it with a laugh. The laugh didn’t come.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line instead. “I’m not hurt,” she corrected, a little too quickly. She took a sip of her drink like that might help sell it. It did not.

“…I just think,” she added, slower now, eyes dropping briefly to the cup in her hands, “that if one is going to dramatically interrupt a man tuning a guitar - purely out of enthusiasm, might I add - one could reasonably expect…” she gestured vaguely, searching, “…less… disciplinary energy.”

Her nose scrunched.

“Or at least a mild acknowledgement of flair.” She exhaled through her nose, then glanced sideways at Cat, something softer flickering through the remnants of her pride.

“I wasn’t being weird,” she said, quieter, not quite a question, not quite a statement. “I was being - supportive. In a spirited way.” she easily explained,

“And now I’ve been… socially footnoted.”

Cat saw that head incline, she did. And it was noted. She might think about it later and decide that a certain professor wasn’t actually mean and maybe was using a teaching moment. However, this was not that time, and her best friend duties were more important.

They were especially important, actually, since Marina appeared to be momentarily frozen.

Cat let her take her time, carefully watching as various emotions seemed to cross the girl’s face. Cat bent her knees slightly and tilted her head to get a better vantage point of said emotions. She said nothing as Marina spoke, seeming to work through her own experience while explaining it. The silence was difficult, by the way, and Cat spared a moment to be proud of herself for her apparent new ability to be, like, a good listener. And stuff.

She nodded in agreement. Then she quickly shook her head (socially footnoted, no way), lifting both hands to settle on Marina’s upper arms, trying to silently request her full attention and eye contact. This was important.

“Everyone knows that Professor Cox is a grump, Marina. It’s part of his… character.” Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but hopefully it got her point across. “I don’t think anyone even noticed, probably. I just did because I was trying to find you anyway.” She dropped her hands, rocking back on her heels, and nervously rubbed at her own left arm with her right hand. “I like how supportive you are. And spirited. Don’t let this get to your head. Okay?”

Marina let Cat turn her, let her hands land on her arms, let herself be held there for a second like something that might drift off if not anchored.

And then she met her eyes. Actually met them this time. “…Okay,” she said, softer than before, like the word had to pass through a few layers before it made it out. Not defeated. Not even fully convinced. Just… accepted, for now.

Her shoulders dropped a fraction. Then - because she was still Marina - her mouth tilted, just slightly. “Grump is generous,” she said, glancing vaguely in the direction of the dais like she might file a formal complaint with the universe later.

“But,” she added, eyes flicking back to Cat, something warmer settling in now, “you noticed” which meant other people did as well. Still, her expression softened around the edges, pride loosening its grip just enough to let something real peek through.

“…thank you,” she said, quieter, less theatrical than usual, which for Marina meant it mattered. She nudged Cat lightly with her shoulder after a second, reclaiming a bit of her usual rhythm. “And for the record,” she continued, lifting her chin with a small, stubborn spark returning, “I stand by it. He does look like he could headline a mildly intimidating but critically acclaimed wizard band.” she grinned.

“…I simply misjudged the audience.” Another grin. “And possibly the whistle acoustics.” She exhaled, then looped her arm through Cat’s like nothing had happened, like everything had. “Come on,” she said, tugging her along, voice lighter now, “lets go dance or eat our feelings or whistle at someone reasonable.”

Exactly who signed him up for this? Diallo wasn't quite sure how he ended up on the list until he was asked about what he would be performing. He had some suspicions on who volunteered him, considering Professor Cox was up there earlier (who surprised him with his talent). Anywho, looks like he'll be putting those Frog Choir talents to use. It didn't take him long to pick a song, although he had some other top choices. This out to liven things up some more.

Of course, the nerves didn't hit until Diallo was staring at all the people staring up at him. Closing his eyes, he waited until the music kicked in... huh, it was a slower tempo than he remembered. Oh well, this works better in his favour.

His foot tapped along to the beat before-

"Lady.." Diallo clutched the mic. "Hear me tonight.. 'Cause my feeling.. is just so right. As we dance.. by the moonlight."

Cue him pointing at a random witch in the audience. "Can't you see? You're my dee-liiight-"

Well, everyone can see where this is going.

"Lady.. I just feel like.. I won't get you.. out of my mind." Head tipping back a little, "I feel looooove, for the first time." Back to his regular stance. "And that it's true, I can tell by the look in your eyes.."

Okay, he was getting into the performance now.

The hour was getting late, and Wilber found himself, by his own generous estimation, just a touch overdue to impart a few words. With a soft exhale and a small, resolute nod to no one in particular, he gathered himself and began ascending the steps to the dais. The Headmaster stood at the centre of the dais and, for a moment, he said nothing at all, simply taking in the sight before him: four Houses no longer just divided by colour, but alive with it nonetheless―interwoven, overlapping, and shared. The twinkle in his eyes danced with the reflection of the enchanted ceiling, showcasing the colourful fireworks above. The last of the chatter died down once his hands were outstretched.

“My dear students… colleagues… and those of you wondering how quickly I might wrap this up… rest assured, I shall do my best to be both meaningful and merciful.”

His voice boomed throughout the Great Hall, and a small smile flickered across his face.

“This term has asked something rather particular of all of us. Not simply to excel, not simply to compete… but to consider what it means to belong not just to a House… but to a whole.”

He turned slightly, gesturing with an open hand toward the banners that adorned the hall.

“Several terms ago, we had a castle that had, quite literally, lost its colour. And we saw, together, how it was restored. Not by one House. Not by one idea. But by many hands, many minds… and a shared determination to mend what had been fractured.” His gaze softened, and his smile widened. “And I have watched — quite closely, I might add, with the keen observational skills of a man who has absolutely not knocked over three teacups this week alone — as you have carried that lesson forward.”

He paused a moment to take a few steps across the stage.

“You have competed with pride, yes, but also with respect. You have supported one another across House lines. You have, in ways both small and extraordinary, remembered that the strength of Hogwarts has never been found in its divisions… but in how we choose to stand together despite them.”

He let that settle, his smile almost brighter than the shine off the top of his head from the lanternlight.

“And so, it is my great pleasure to begin our recognitions this evening. First, to our House Cup winners…” A gentle lift of his hand, and the banners above shimmered. “Hufflepuff House. For your consistency, your kindness, and your quiet but steadfast determination—you have reminded us all that loyalty and hard work are not merely admirable traits… but powerful ones.” A storm of cheering and feet stomping from the Hufflepuffs filled the room. His head tilted slightly in the direction of Hufflepuff's potted pride. A signal for them to settle themselves before he continued on. “And, if I may—proof that slow and steady doesn’t just win the race… it also remembers to bring snacks along the way.”

The Headmaster took a breath then, allowing for any applause or cheers that may come.
“And to Ravenclaw House—who have claimed both the Quidditch Cup and the Gobstones Cup this term. Proof that sharp minds and sharper aim can be a rather formidable combination.” A quieter storm of cheering filled the room that caused him to pause before it subsided. “And let us not overlook the valiant hearts and bold spirits of Gryffindor, nor the keen minds and quiet ambition of Slytherin this evening. Both houses have added no small measure of brilliance and ingenuity to our celebrations this evening.”

He let the applause rise and fall once more before continuing.

“To all of our professors…You have guided, steadied, encouraged, and on more than one occasion very bravely tolerated the creative interpretations of your lesson plans.” A knowing look was passed along to his colleagues. “Hogwarts stands because of you. And I thank you for your patience, your care, and your unwavering commitment to the young people gracing the Great Hall tonight.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer among his colleagues before returning to the students, something quieter settling in his expression.

“And to our graduating seventh years—congratulations, my dears. You arrived here as curious young people, and you leave as something rather extraordinary. I look forward to reading your memory book entries later… though I may need several cups of tea and a handkerchief or five to get through them.”

The twinkle in his eyes intensified, arms spreading wide as though he were trying to envelope the whole of the hall in one great, big bear hug.

“And to you—every student in this hall… You have done something remarkable this term. You have proven that House pride need not come at the expense of school unity. That wearing your colours brightly does not mean dimming someone else’s.” He gestured lightly to the hall again, now alive with blended decoration and cheer. “You have, quite beautifully, shown us that unity is not the absence of difference… but the celebration of it. And so, as we look forward — not just to the summer, though I suspect many of you are already halfway there in spirit—but to the years ahead, I leave you with this:”

His eyes twinkled again, though there was something steadier beneath them.

“Carry your colours with pride. But never forget—you are part of something far greater than any one House. You are part of Hogwarts. And Hogwarts… is at its very best when all of its colours shine together.” A brief pause followed, and then, with a gentle lift of one finger: “And if ever you find yourself at odds with one another, I encourage you to remember—unity is a bit like a good cup of tea. It requires patience, a bit of care… and the good sense not to let it stew into something bitter or boil over.”

His gaze swept fondly across the hall.

“Now then… before I risk saying something truly dreadful in the name of tradition, I think it best I leave you to the far more important business of the evening. Enjoy, my dear students. You have more than earned it. Though do not enjoy yourselves so much that you oversleep. The Hogwarts Express will be as punctual as ever.”

And with that, Wilber passed the spotlight off to the next performer of the evening, another term at Hogwarts soon to enter into memory.