“Alright, what's crawled into your cauldron and died?” Ron asked, eyeing Hermes like he was two seconds away from combusting.

“Nothing.” Hermes didn’t look up from his perfectly aligned notes, jaw clenched, quill making an irritated slash across the margin. “Some of us just value punctuality.”

Harry raised a brow. “You’ve checked the door five times in two minutes.”

“I have not.”

The both of them exchanged looks. “Ohhh. I get it.” Ron leaned over the desk, grinning. “Someone’s late. Someone important.”

Hermes’ finger twitched. “We were supposed to review the Arithmancy charts together before class. It’s not a date.”

“Never said it was,” Ron said, looking far too smug for someone who still couldn’t spell ‘Arithmancy’ without help.

Hermes opened his mouth for a scathing reply—then the classroom door creaked open. There you were. Breeze-tousled, casual, like you hadn’t just committed an academic sin by being precisely thirteen minutes late to a study session he had scheduled down to the minute.

“Late,” Hermes muttered, not looking up. “Again.”

Harry gave a barely-hidden snort. Ron whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “whipped” before heading off to his own seat.